1. I arrive at Neiman Marcus around 10am to rendezvous with my mother at her request. She is in the dressing room trying on clothes when I get there and I wait for her in the waiting area just outside. As I'm waiting, she keeps reaching around her curtain and hanging outfits that she has already tried on. She wants me to try them on next so she can buy some for me. She's in a great mood, although I never actually see her face. I keep hearing her say things like "Sweetie, you'd just look fabulous in this." I am really not in the mood for shopping, and as I'm starting to get frustrated my aunt Casey appears. I first tell her that I don't want to try on anything my mom wants me to, and she reassures me that I don't have to and that I should just tell my mom how I'm feeling. I then begin to gasp for air and try to tell her that I can't breathe.
I think this is about the pressure I may feel to be something/someone other than who I really am. Other people want to keep me boxed in or put their own ideas of who/how I should be onto me. As I'm growing up, I am less tolerant of this and find it often frustrating. I think the breathing thing could be significant, but I'm more inclined to believe that I was in a bad position in my bed that made breathing difficult and that was my way of letting myself know.
I think this is about the pressure I may feel to be something/someone other than who I really am. Other people want to keep me boxed in or put their own ideas of who/how I should be onto me. As I'm growing up, I am less tolerant of this and find it often frustrating. I think the breathing thing could be significant, but I'm more inclined to believe that I was in a bad position in my bed that made breathing difficult and that was my way of letting myself know.
2. I am in a living room of a white house during the early afternoon. A group of students and faculty who attended the disastrous Religious Studies field trip with me (in real life) are seated in a circle. We are here to discuss how the museum visit went, and I speak up first. I state how ridiculous and poorly planned out the entire excursion was and in the future we would be better served by doing more research ahead of time to gauge what we were getting into. I barely finish speaking when a loud-mouthed-know-it-all girl from my class begins reprimanding me for my ingratitude and lack of manners. Other students immediately chime in to support her, but the entire attack smacks of insincerity for the sake of political correctness. I think to myself that this is why I often keep my thoughts to myself - because often what I say/think is either offensive or unrelatable to others. I finally decide I've had enough. Silently crying in frustration and shame, I cross the room and leave. Outside, the neighborhood is very Pleasantville-esque. As I make my way down the sidewalk, I am wishing that Nicolette (my religious studies TA whom I admire) would follow me out to comfort me or at least let me explain. When she doesn't, I have a brief moment of lucidity and elect to make it happen anyways. Nicolette comes running out of the house calling my name. I stop and turn around, but when she gets to me I begin to wheeze again and tell her I can't breathe. She pulls out a paper bag for me to breathe into and we sit on the curbside to help me calm down.
I think this dream is of a similar vein as the one before, but it also reflects my deep fear that if I truly speak what's often on my mind or real to me, I will alienate myself from others and people may react in a hostile manner. Lately I am irritated by everyone being overly politically correct and the lack of tolerance for other viewpoints that are often more realistic or truthful.
3. I head down to our bayhouse in Port O'Connor. When I get there, the set-up of the house has shifted to include a larger deck where the breezeway is. The pool is now located on the canal side and instead of the canal, the entire ocean is stretched out just beyond (except the water is still brownish green and murky). My family and some of my parents' friends, all older couples, are all sitting on the breezeway deck chatting. I take a seat and am listening to the conversations when I my dad and Travis get up and take their chairs around to the ocean side of the house. My dad comes back and goes to pick up another empty chair. I catch his eye and give him a quizzical look. He winks at me mischievously and so I grab my chair and follow him around to the other side as well. When I get there I see that the ocean has risen so high that it covers the entire pool and boat dock. One of our former boats, named The Miss Lauren M, is tethered to a pillar supporting the house, and my dad and brother are jumping from the front deck to the boat with chairs in hand, then putting the chairs in the water on the other side. People are somehow then able to get in the chairs and float on top of the water for leisure. My dad's in the boat, and he holds out his hand for me to get in with my chair. As soon as I do, the boat begins to capsize. My dad curses and I can tell he is nervous. I don't feel nervous in the slightest, because I know that once under water we will be able to easily swim out from the boat and back to the surface. This is exactly what happens, and we both paddle to safety. Once out of the water, my dad tells me to go back down to the bottom of the ocean to flip the boat right-side up again. I am sure that this is impossible, and a little shocked by the request. However, I decide that there's no harm in trying. I dive back into the water and as I begin swimming down, I feel nervous about the lack of visibility. I soon realize that the murkiness is just the top layer, and underneath the water is cooler, crystal clear, and fresh. It's not that I'm able to breathe here but more that I don't need to. The boat is sitting on the bottom and I take it by the motor and effortlessly right it. I then pull it back up to the surface as my dad requested. When I get out of the water, I'm not even wet. My uncle then comes to tell me how much he likes my blog. My aunt Casey says that she has yet to read it, and for some reason seems a little smug about it. Then an old man approaches me, puts his arm around me, and says "I cannot tell you how much your writing means to me. It's like an arrow through my heart - it touches my core."
This one was more difficult for me to figure out, so I enlisted the help of my father. Typically dreams in which the water is blue and clear that does not require holding my breath while under it symbolizes spirituality. If the boat is my "vessel for getting through life," as my dad phrased it, then perhaps this dream is merely a metaphor for what has happened in my life the past few years. I sank to the bottom and was unsure of my ability to right the situation. However, once I made the effort to do so, I was led to a place in which I was able to see more clearly and found the strength I didn't think I had. Strong male presences usually represent my Jungian anima, and an older man would be a mature/developed one. I think that the old man at the end of my dream represented the fact that writing on this blog is helping me to develop a relationship with that part of myself.
I think this dream is of a similar vein as the one before, but it also reflects my deep fear that if I truly speak what's often on my mind or real to me, I will alienate myself from others and people may react in a hostile manner. Lately I am irritated by everyone being overly politically correct and the lack of tolerance for other viewpoints that are often more realistic or truthful.
3. I head down to our bayhouse in Port O'Connor. When I get there, the set-up of the house has shifted to include a larger deck where the breezeway is. The pool is now located on the canal side and instead of the canal, the entire ocean is stretched out just beyond (except the water is still brownish green and murky). My family and some of my parents' friends, all older couples, are all sitting on the breezeway deck chatting. I take a seat and am listening to the conversations when I my dad and Travis get up and take their chairs around to the ocean side of the house. My dad comes back and goes to pick up another empty chair. I catch his eye and give him a quizzical look. He winks at me mischievously and so I grab my chair and follow him around to the other side as well. When I get there I see that the ocean has risen so high that it covers the entire pool and boat dock. One of our former boats, named The Miss Lauren M, is tethered to a pillar supporting the house, and my dad and brother are jumping from the front deck to the boat with chairs in hand, then putting the chairs in the water on the other side. People are somehow then able to get in the chairs and float on top of the water for leisure. My dad's in the boat, and he holds out his hand for me to get in with my chair. As soon as I do, the boat begins to capsize. My dad curses and I can tell he is nervous. I don't feel nervous in the slightest, because I know that once under water we will be able to easily swim out from the boat and back to the surface. This is exactly what happens, and we both paddle to safety. Once out of the water, my dad tells me to go back down to the bottom of the ocean to flip the boat right-side up again. I am sure that this is impossible, and a little shocked by the request. However, I decide that there's no harm in trying. I dive back into the water and as I begin swimming down, I feel nervous about the lack of visibility. I soon realize that the murkiness is just the top layer, and underneath the water is cooler, crystal clear, and fresh. It's not that I'm able to breathe here but more that I don't need to. The boat is sitting on the bottom and I take it by the motor and effortlessly right it. I then pull it back up to the surface as my dad requested. When I get out of the water, I'm not even wet. My uncle then comes to tell me how much he likes my blog. My aunt Casey says that she has yet to read it, and for some reason seems a little smug about it. Then an old man approaches me, puts his arm around me, and says "I cannot tell you how much your writing means to me. It's like an arrow through my heart - it touches my core."
This one was more difficult for me to figure out, so I enlisted the help of my father. Typically dreams in which the water is blue and clear that does not require holding my breath while under it symbolizes spirituality. If the boat is my "vessel for getting through life," as my dad phrased it, then perhaps this dream is merely a metaphor for what has happened in my life the past few years. I sank to the bottom and was unsure of my ability to right the situation. However, once I made the effort to do so, I was led to a place in which I was able to see more clearly and found the strength I didn't think I had. Strong male presences usually represent my Jungian anima, and an older man would be a mature/developed one. I think that the old man at the end of my dream represented the fact that writing on this blog is helping me to develop a relationship with that part of myself.
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