Tell Me a Story: Dreams and Snow

For the most part, I’m back to remembering my dreams. It’s been years since I’ve, consistently, been able to. 10,000 neurosurgeries will do that to ya. I like sorting out all my dream imagery and symbolism—it helps me process and deal with where I’m at emotionally.

Some Morpheus brain messages are spectacularly simple to sort out. Fer instance, in one I was beginning an affair with Obama. What was that all about? Incredibly, it was NOT about sex despite Barry’s extreme hotness. Nope, it was about finding comfort and protection in these absolutely insane times where democracy and human rights gains of the last 60 years are being shredded and decimated more each day.

An aside: in my dream language, sex is never about doing the horizontal bop. It generally means that I'm feeling a greater, deeper emotional connection to a person. For you, sleepy-time hanky panky might mean something else. Dream symbolism is specific to the individual dreamer

Not this Morpheus

The other night, Morpheus had me delivering some random package to a new resident of an apartment near where I lived 30 years ago in the Brighton section of Boston. Jen was with me. Rain was bucketing down and I was late to meet Stan for dinner. I was in a wee panic.

MAYBE I’m feeling like I’m overdue in sending a note to Stan—see how he’s doing and shit. It’s been awhile. Dunno.

Another Morpheus missive had me visiting an old friend and his wife in their treelined North Shore town. I haven’t seen Kevin in yonks.

I suspect that, despite my descent into introversion and misanthropy, I’m missing my old chums. Possibly, in the spring when getting around will be less of a herculean task, I can reconnect?

Meanwhile, have some snow pics. Fuck no, I didn’t go out to play in the white fluffy stuff—it’s cold, wet, and I forgot to put now tires and chains on my rollator. Falling—I’m not keen on the idea.

*AHEM* Pics by the intrepid Jen.