Tag Archives: dreams

So what does this mean, Sigmund?


I was so tired last night that I lay down on my bed “for a few minutes” around 11:30 p.m. I don’t know why I always think it will be for just “a few minutes” because what always happens is that I wake up hours later, with the lights blaring in every room, fully clothed and still wearing my contact lenses. Last night was no exception, of course.

I woke up around 4:30 a.m., and then couldn’t really get back to sleep again because I started thinking about Wednesdays, which are, from now on, going to be one of my “days off”. 2009 was a disastrous year for me because I was so stressed out about money that I never really allowed myself to have “down time”. Of course, I did end up having “down time” but it was mainly because I got so frustrated and depressed by working myself too hard that I ended up being forced to stop working instead of actually choosing to have fun and relax. The main result of this was that I never really could have fun and relax because I always had this nagging feeling that I was slacking off and should be doing something else. This a pattern I’ve followed since I was eighteen, and I don’t know why it’s so fucking hard to break it. I don’t understand why I have a lot of self-knowledge, which I then proceed to ignore to fall back into my bad habits.

Anyway, I digress….so back to the main story. So, here I am at 4:30 a.m., thinking about Wednesdays, wondering how to spend them. I’d like to make Wednesday a “creativity day”, a time when I attempt to write a short story, or just do anything creative and fun. It terrifies me to think that I might “only” be a teacher. I know teaching is a noble profession, and it’s definitely something I enjoy and want to make part of my life forever, but I just don’t want it to be the only thing I do. I’d like to start writing fiction and perhaps also creative non-fiction but I don’t know if I have it in me. I mean, if I want to write, why the fuck haven’t I written anything before now?! I’m fucking thirty-two years old, for Christ’s sake! Surely I’d have started years ago if I truly had something to write about. Maybe I also want to write for all the wrong reasons…you know, just so I can say “Oh, I’m a writer” and think of myself as a creative person. Maybe I don’t have a creative bone in my body, and I should just accept the fact that I’m going to be a teacher, have kids, retire and then die, just like everybody fucking else in the world.

By 5:30 a.m., I was still wide awake, trying to come up with a short story idea (I thought about writing one which incorporates a Scottish myth) but still listening to the little voice deep inside me whispering “You can’t do it! You can’t do it! Who do you think you are?!” Eventually I remembered a woman in my book group who is a published novelist…but, well, her book is awful. I don’t want to be mean (ultimately I admire her for having the determination, will-power and work ethic to get the damn thing written…and she did also pace it well) but, oh my God, I just know I can write something better than a completely unrealistic, “feel good”, happy ending type novel. This calmed me down a wee bit and I was eventually able to fall asleep. Now, I know it isn’t very nice to use somebody else’s literary deficiences as a sleep aid or as a boost to my own creativity, but, hell, give me a damn break. I needed to get to sleep somehow.

Unfortunately, I was then re-awakened at 6:30 a.m. by a text from a friend of mine in Berlin, a painter. It was strange that she should text me just after I’d been agonizing about being creative. I have always really envied her life and creativity because she’s devoted herself to her art since a very young age, and moves in bohemian, artistic circles. I wouldn’t say that I want to be her, but I have always wanted to live my life more like her. Her text said that a friend of hers (an annoying, pretentious, rich English girl whom I’ve never liked) accused her of stealing her painting ideas. I’ve never really understood why my friend likes this girl so much (I suppose they must just have some sort of connection through painting), but their frienship has always been so fraught with stress and drama, so it seems like far too much effort to me. God, there is enough pain in the world without having friends who add to it! My friend also told me that a famous gallery owner had come to see her show, had wined, dined and bedded her, all while promising her the world…and, then…neglected to get back in touch again.

I don’t know if there’s any significance in receiving a text from my “creative friend” just after I’d been agonizing about my own creativity. Probably not. Probably it means nothing. Or maybe the text was to remind me that writing, and being creative, isn’t going to be a panacea for all that it is wrong with my life. Who knows.

I finally fell asleep again and had the weirdest dream. I won’t go into too much detail (reading about other people’s dreams is kinda boring, huh?) but suffice it to say that I was a trainee teacher in a school that was being taken over by strange, evil orange tabby cats (in the vein of Garfield). They kept appearing, then vanishing, and turning up somewhere else in the classroom. I was drawing a picture of a leaf-less tree in winter on the blackboard when one turned up and knocked over all my belongings. Next, all the teachers were out in the car park, discussing, quite nonchalantly where they were going to be transferred (as if it were normal for evil Garfield-like cats to destroy your previous school!). “MM” was there, too (he was a trainee teacher also, apparently) and a very young teacher came up and whispered something to him, so it was obvious that they’d had sex at some point. I asked “MM” if they’d had sex before he met me, but he never answered, so I took that to mean he had had an affair with the teacher. She was still around, gloating, so I kicked the crap out of her, and then started to beat up “MM”, too in the hope that he would finally admit the truth. He never did, and the dream ended with us standing in my living room with “MM” looking away from me.

The strange thing is that I then sent “MM” a text about this dream (it felt so real!) and I got the following message back:

“Oh baby. I also dreamt you were having an affair. I was breaking everything around me and woke up very sad”.

What does it all mean, Sigmund?!

Am I the first sex worker Nostradamus?


Nostradamus I was a bit perturbed today to learn that there had been a tsunami in Samoa and American Samoa because I had a dream about being caught in a tsunami yesterday. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence , but it is a bit weird because I’ve never dreamed about a tsunami before. Then again, maybe I am the 21st century version of Nostradamus. You just never know. I suppose you’ll just have to keep reading this blog every day to find out if the end of the world is nigh.

In the dream I was in a big, elegant building with lots of other people, and we were all trying to take refuge on the upper levels from the imminent tsunami. I was anxious because my animals were with me, and I wanted to make sure they were all safe. Just when I got to safety, I realized that one of my cats (the new kitten?) was still down below, and I had to go back to rescue him. The building had really long windows, going from the floor to the ceiling, so I could see out really clearly. Just as I picked up the kitten and was heading up, I could see the tsunami waves come crashing down about to hit the windows.

Don’t know what happened after that. Then the dream switched to me being in a taxi in Glasgow, driving through the city at night. I liked the taxi driver at first, and I was so glad to be home, but the cunt stole an expensive camera I was carrying in a plastic bag, and tried to give me a cheapo one instead. Fucking Glasgow taxi drivers. Even in your dreams, they’re wide bastards.

Oh, well. That’s all for tonight, folks. I’m off to ma bed to get some kip. Let’s see what predictions tonight’s dreams bring.

Rain, and cat dreams.


When I woke up this morning, it was raining. Most people in town are happy because this summer has been so incredibly hot – so many days over 100 degrees fahrenheit (38 degrees celsius) – and there’s been a drought. It amuses me the way people in this state whine incessantly about the hot weather, though. The only time most of them encounter the weather is when they walk from their nice air-conditioned houses to their air-conditioned cars to get to their air-conditioned offices. I, on the other hand, do not own a car and had to cycle around under the blaring sun. It was so hot that it melted the plastic on my bike’s handlebars!

I’m a skinny girl (maybe only 110 pounds, and five feet six inches tall), so there is nothing I hate more than being cold, as I don’t have much natural insulation. I love being warm, and feeling the sun’s rays on my skin, and I would prefer to be too hot than too cold any day. Interestingly, I have only ever fallen in love with men who emit so much body heat that they are like small furnaces. I never consciously chose men like this but I certainly can’t imagine loving a man with a similar body type to me. We’d be one big nasty mass of bony knees and elbows! Yuck!

Despite my love of warm weather and sunshine, I can’t help but find it somewhat bland and boring when you have it practically all year round. Americans always ask me about the notoriously rainy weather in my country of origin but, to be honest, it never really bothered me when I was there. I’m not even really sure anymore that it did rain that much. I think it was mainly just overcast. I know the dark, cloudy skies affected my mood greatly when I still lived there, but I miss them now. They made everything look so brooding and mysterious.

When I move away from this city, I will surely miss the fact that I can run practically all year round without having to worry about buying thermals. However, there is just something decidedly too perky and positive in this place, and I think it has got a lot to do with the weather. The city where I’m from can be a hard, unforgiving place, but it’s precisely these qualities which make the people so fucking resourceful and tough with a great sense of humour. Most of all, I miss the clubs (one club in particular) where I’d dance all night, off my face on ecstasy. Like I said, it’s a hard city… and we party hard, too. “Parties” in this city are, in contrast, laughable affairs especially now that I’m in my early thirties. Americans in this part of the country tend to get married off in their mid-twenties and put “their partying years behind them”. Their “parties” consist of people standing around a beer keg, making civilized chit chat, and they’re usually over by midnight. Where are the drugs?! Where is the underlying sexual tension?!

The only time I ever liked this state was when I went off to the desert to get married. I couldn’t have found scenery more different to my own country’s but there was curiously something in its stark, harsh beauty, which reminded me of home. Yes, the sun was blaring down; yes, the desert is nearly always hot and sunny…but I loved the fact that I could die in such an environment…

Up until recently, I thought it would be a nice idea to get a job as a teacher in some desert town and move there with my cats and dogs, and, oh yeah, I suppose Midwestern Man would have to come, too…In the end, though, I realized it would be too tortuous a process to get certified to teach in this stupid state.

Speaking of cats, I’ve now started dreaming about them! It’s not the first time I’ve dreamt about cats, though – I sometimes dream about giving birth to a black cat. Fuck knows what that means. Last night – and I will keep this short, as I know there’s nothing more boring than hearing about somebody else’s dream – I was in a house (more like a strange, artist’s studio) with a long-haired man who was apparently my boyfriend. There were cats everywhere, with strange, crimped fur. There was also a journalist who was trying to pass herself off as an artist, but who had really been sent to spy on me (huh?!). My “boyfriend” gave me a kitten to take home with me but at one point I saw him trying to hide the face of a kitten which he had actually cut off, which I found really disturbing, as he had seemed like such a nice guy. At the end of the dream, he gave me some sort of meat on a stick to eat, which was really tasty until I realized it was dead cat.

Hmmm. I’d like to think that this meant something, but it probably just suggests that I need to stop spending so much time with cats, and should get out the house more.