Sunday, January 13, 2013

Messed up dreams, tidying and couch days.

My twisted brain must be working on over drive at the moment as I'm having some really fucked up dreams. Like, scare the shit out of you, messed up dreams. Like waking up convinced it was real dreams and sweating and panting and almost crying out dreams.

And I can't seem to make them stop.

So this morning's delight was me with a group of people that I'm sure I knew but couldn't put a face or name with and there was some sort of infection or disease going around. I think we were in the play ground of my primary school, back up North, and as soon as the infection showed in, weirdly, your hand, it would then work it's way up your arm and through your body. So, as soon as it was visible, the men were using massive knives to chop off hands at the wrists or arms at the elbow or shoulder.

I kept thinking, I hope it doesn't get me, I need my hands, I'm a writer. But it kept taking down one by one of the people there with me. And various hands and parts of arms now littered the floor along with the gushing of blood and splatter of tears. The anxiety grew as the amount of people not infected decreased and I knew it was only a matter of time until the infection took me and I would have to lose a part of myself that I needed.

All sorts of weird things flashed through my head (still in my dream) about alternative ways of being able to write and how other people have triumphed with lost limbs, but still I selfishly hoped the infection wouldn't take me and then I could keep my writing hands, my typing fingers, the reason for my continued existence.

But then a took a look at my hands, arms outstretched and the red blotches of the disease travelled up my hands towards my wrist.

"No NO!" I screamed. "I'm a writer. I need my hands!"

But then I was thrust up against the wall, just like the others and out came the massive and already bloody knife. The infection began to spread further up my arm and I knew it would have to be severed at the elbow. The knife was held up, ready to strike and.........

BAM! I wake up, distressed and scared and quickly checking my arm was actually in tact.

Wow is it fun to be in my head, especially my subconscious. 

So, come on dream interpreters. What does that mean?

I have a few theories myself: Not that it's exactly rocket science. But I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that I haven't come to terms with quitting my job, I'm scared I'll never make anything happen with the writing. I'm worried I'm not good enough to be a writer. Blah blah blah. Plus it probably has something to do with all the horror/zombie/disaster films and TV shows we watch. Couple that with my twisted mind and the result is some freakin' scary ass nightmares. Urgh! I'm hoping they're gonna stop soon. The waking up at 3.30am every morning is getting old.

Anyhoo, I've had a week and a half of chaos due to having to clear out all my stuff from work, including all my musical instruments and stuff for my music classes. And for the last three weeks it's all been stuffed under the dining room table or wherever I could find somewhere to shove it. I think this has been contributing to the low levels of productivity and all around emotional turbulence I've been experiencing since the start of the new year.

But now due to hours and hours and days and days of cleaning and tidying and getting rid of stuff and recycling as much as humanly possible, the chaos has cleared and I have a tidy work space. So tomorrow the real start of the year will begin.

I couldn't work in chaos, because not only was the room in chaos, but so was I. My mind was such a tangle of nonsense and emotion and loss and the feeling of detachment, as though I no longer belonged to anything. Like I cut myself out of the World and no longer have a place in it, or I lost my place in the queue or something............Something equally melodramatic.....See what happens when you suddenly have only yourself for company. Ha ha.

So now things are in order-ish and I feel better, uncluttered both inside and out, I felt entitled to a couch day. And I am thoroughly enjoying myself. I love a good couch day. We don't have them very often but they basically involve, the couch, the TV, DVD player, remote controls, drinks and food. And of course, not doing a great deal. (Except of course writing this blog, whilst watching an epic film.)

We started on the series Homeland yesterday, which granted makes us well behind the times, but that's not unusual for me, and we are hooked. We sat and watched about three episodes back to back this morning. Claire Danes is pretty hot in it and it's very interesting that she is dealing with a psychiatric disorder as well. Normally spies are depicted with very little weakness, so it's interesting to see a main character having to not only deal with terror plots and saving the World, but also this vulnerability that she can't tell anyone about. And also the fact that it is probably her disorder that makes her so good at her job. (I do know it's not real.)

We've been interspersing this with episodes of Once Upon A Time and Series 6 of 24. He he. Good times.

Anyhoo, the couch is proving particularly comfy and inviting. I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna move much for the next few hours, so I'll skidaddle and hopefully return later this week with a holiday blog. I should be able to formulate the right mental mode.

Have a great rest of weekend. I actually used my blanket with the arms for the first time. We normally ignore the sleeves and just use it as a blanket but it proved great for a couch day blog. Shame they look slightly ridiculous really.

Toad in the hole for tea tonight, a British classic and one of my star culinary creations, believe me, there ain't many. Am excited about it already.

Have a chilled Sunday evening and maybe take advantage of a few hours on the couch. I'm sure you deserve it!


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