the power of nightmares

A couple hundred thousand years ago, on the Mendocino Coast, where I'd just moved from "the real world", I had a dream that a whole team of homicidal football players were breaking in my windows and kicking down my door. I'd had to kill each as they entered, and I was moping about that the entire next day... until I mentioned it to someone who immediately exclaimed that it was a great dream. I thought he was crazy... all that gore.... Nope. He said that for a woman who just moved to a strange place to be that dispositive of all those big bad mean unknowns coming to get her was a good thing. I was tickled about how this outlook fixed mine... and reminded me that a dream doesn't mean what it seems on its face.

Today I went out and bought a lot of extremely healthy supplements at the health food store. Haven't eaten right in a couple years and it's showing. My mood is in the toilet. My body is a wreck. So today I brought out the big guns. The stuff of which hale and effective women are made. Psychedelic pee and all.

I think they're already working. My sleep has been awful for too long, and I finally started getting entirely too tired and draggy a couple of hours after popping all these capsules full of nutrients of various types. It was only eight, but I wanted bed really badly. So I did.

I dreamed I'd gone to this big house being renovated by a big bozo internet radio host. He had a house full of devoted interns turning it into a damn palace. He drives me nuts because he's always buttering-up his listeners till I think I want to barf, assuring us of our intelligence and goodness and decency and all that virtuous crap. And he can't manage to get out one line without turning around within the very same show to show what a hypocrite he is. Biggest waste of a good idea going. Drives me wild. So I'd gone to try to talk him into building helpful stuff out here in the world where it would do actual good, expecting to get his blather about how nurturing his own gig was helping keep his listeners sane, or whatever it is he thinks he does for them that is so vital... certainly NOT making a better world. Anyway, he surprised me by having a bunch of his interns standing just around the corner and saying nasty things to me as I was trying to get through his thick and me-obsessed skull. Like blog trolls, only talking.

So I went for the worst of them, and she tried to run. I grabbed the skin on her arm to stop her, but she kept going. I didn't let go. Her skin stretched like taffy and it was horrifying her. It was making me laugh. Ended up pretty much laying waste to Bozo's new HQ and his interns... bodies and parts and building materials flying. I didn't get his help making a better world but I guess I thinned some of the evil posing as world-bettering....

Then my sister was trying to trample me again. My mother was there. I didn't even get time to realize what I was with them for when my sister started in being transcendentally nasty. My whole life my mother and my sister have been trying to do me the worst dirt, or outright kill me, in my dreams. It was happening again. Only this time I wasn't hurt and bewildered. I went to kill my sister instead, but she turned into a cat on a rope, covered with kerosene. I'd lit the match before I woke up... sweating.

I had no hesitation in my aggression. None.

As I've said before, there are Zen interpretations for this stuff. I have to think about it a while. Maybe I'll come back and update it with what insight I can get from this carnage.

1:35 A.M. -- I'm thinking this is sort of a continuation of my difficulty with the relative. Last time I was reluctant to go into the crowded motel room full of relatives. This time I went, but I... well... I tore it up but good.