About These Dreams I Had in the Same Month (Lemon Ink, Blonde Poet)

The following dreams occurred on November 8th and 19th respectively.

 

          Rudeness, body art, fruit! And afterward, just because I feel like it, I share one of my new favorite shows with you, starring two funny, beautiful drag performers! Please join me!

 

I Admire Lorelai Gilmore

This fanhood is recent and not devout. Please know that; it’s important that I be honest, considering how many hardcore fans “Gilmore Girls” had when it was on cable.

Back then, long before streaming, I didn’t watch it, wasn’t a fan, especially not of Rory’s entitlement, ‘cause she and I were just too different for me to relate,  in addition to the fact that to a degree, immaturity created and encouraged a self-absorption and a lack of thoughtful patience that could have given me room to like her. I liked Lorelai better and would have loved to make out with a younger clone of Luke.

The four-part Netflix revival was a different experience. Everybody was older now. I was compassionate about Rory’s lost, immature behavior and appropriately uncomfortable at moments that struck me right in my own bullshit, which made me feel better, because I could use those moments to remind myself of how much of my authentic power, talent and maturity was waiting for my self-imposed boundaries to be moved out of the way.

 

Huh. I started that previous paragraph wanting to write about Lorelai and here I am. Well. These days, I see a couple of things in the elder Gilmore girl that may well reflect who I am now because, in a way, that character was a late bloomer and I certainly (intentionally) have been one myself, which is a truth I used to not voice aloud out of shame that I now would like to wear proudly, albeit quietly, maybe wit a pin on my jean jacket that looks like a Pop Tart. I haven’t planned it out yet.

As a gift on my thirty-second birthday, I was given a ring that blatantly resembles a blue Ring Pop candy. That’s the closest I get to Lorelai’s Hello Kitty-themed waffle iron.

 

Ever Heard of Grounding/Earthing? Let's Go Do It.

          Are you a fan of walking around barefoot? Do you water your plants or check the mailbox shoeless about as much as weather permits? After playing in the yard with your kid or your dog, do you feel any different? And do you think a person could benefit from spending a lot of time barefoot in the grass or sand?

 

13 Things I Like About Being Alive

          This list is in no particular order and it’s a way of practicing gratitude, which is something I need to work on in order to feel good, take less for granted and have an easier time manifesting the positive achievements I want/need.

           

 

About This Dream I Had (I Carried a Dead Thing)

          This dream was had on the morning of either Sept. 22 or 23.

 

          I made the mistake of choosing to not write down this dream immediately after waking, so hours later, I of course didn't remember much, though the scene was fuller than many other dreams I've had, which I'm sure is the result of my Higher Self getting involved. There was more atmosphere when I suddenly was in the home of some friends I don't know in real life - three sisters, one brother - and I was drawn to one of the sisters most because she had an air about her that said we could have intellectual discussions, I could learn, maybe even open up my optimism, standing more often in the headspace where, to quote a cliché, "The world is your oyster."

 

Poem: "Cards"

Though that is just the working title. I'm also considering, "Be the Eight of Cups".

 

About This Dream I Had: Uneasiness, a Job Search and a Dream Militia

          What I remember now of the dream this morning is that I was working on something with a guy I used to know, a neighbor of a friend of mine, and this guy was goodhearted with so much potential but was awfully immature for his age, which often made him an annoyance, and he moved out of that building, like, a year and a half ago, so it surprised me to recall seeing him in my dream, and soon after that scene was over, my imagination had moved on to some darker alternate universe that had me hiding in an unfamiliar house under one or two heavy blankets in a corner of the front room, shades drawn, because I just didn't have time to bolt for a room toward the back of the house with the faceless older man who found us this house to begin with. He had been partway out of the room, headed for the hall when the front door flew open and let in what I assume was a militia, dressed all in black riot gear, shielded helmets protecting most of their faces from me. Two men in the front didn't obscure their faces, though, and one barked orders at the man who had been trying to help me, while the other looked over at the pile of blankets in the corner and, fearful, I accidentally made eye contact. My response was to flop some heavy, dark-colored blanket over my head, as if that would convey the message that I wouldn't try to describe him to any dissidents, due in large part to the fact that he, like the men behind him, currently had a long firearm in his hands. I was afraid that I was now going to be shot to death. Up until the moment I awoke at 11:22 a.m., lying on my arm in such a way that it felt amusingly numb, Dream Me was still alive.

          I think I can tie those two memories together in the following way...