Tag: anger

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Dream Journal

Rewatching Avonlea

Show up to get a ticket on a Russian train. I’ve been staying at a hostel nearby so I can leave when convenient. I show up as it’s pulling into the station, but the interface of the ticket machine proves fiddly and I have difficulty working with the Russian interface. I’m trying to select St Petersburg, getting the shorthand wrong, having to swap destination with current location. The train is unusually prompt and pulls away in an absurdly brief one or two minutes. Last time it was in the station for about half an hour. I’m very, very mad, finding myself awake in bed at 6 a.m. I quell my rage with a sleep mask.

In a pool (a specific corner of a pool much like my family’s in my childhood home) doing a baptism ritual for an infant — something to bless America, I think. A wedge of lime is carefully melted down on all the exposed surfaces to make it smooth as possible. The lime is delicately anointed on the baby’s forehead. Perhaps it was my own disinterest, but I wish it had been better explained.

Watching episodes of the old TV show “Avonlea” pen-pal style with my wife. There’s a scene where the plucky kids start on a gravelly Canadian beach and cross an open water channel on a dingy, following the fin of a whale cutting through the water. It’s a scene that I made and filmed myself, somehow. I remember not realizing how pretty summers are in that part of Canada.

Meanwhile I’m trying to explain something to my wife after she inquires how to do it, The solution I attempt is to send her a gray t-shirt, scrawling a message across it in pencil. Proves itself difficult to write on though; I end up making the lines too close together, and the capital letters are too blocky. While this is going on, I think I can hear her listening to Kate Bush songs.

Dream ends with me wanting to get back the three microphones I lent her. She’s never ended up using them, and I want them again to use in programming my code. My wife wakes me up to bid farewell on her way to work, and I inquire about these microphones. She jokingly confirms she won’t be giving them back.

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Dream Journal

New Home from Drawing, Same View

Measuring the dimensions of a house by drawing on paper using a pencil, which then becomes the house.

Play a little minigame of hacking the door on the side of the garage to pass the time. Angry that I’ve created a new backyard that — quite unintentionally — matches a plain, unadorned version of my childhood home, with the exact same view of the mountains. In the distance too, I see an abandoned Sears Tower.

A weird snippet of the future: Jeff Bezos and Mackenzie Scott’s child turning 18 and getting 8 billion dollars.

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Dream Journal

Train Got Problems

I’m trying to get off a passenger train (a tram, really) with an unwieldy bag slung over my shoulder. Heedless of my struggle, the train starts along again quickly — the cowcatcher in front scoops me right back on board, like a set of stairs lunging at me.

In the station a giant diesel locomotive idles noisily, producing an overpowering mechanical smell. There’s no indication what it’s here for. Maybe I climb around on it.

I become angry that they spent a bunch of time and effort renovating and rearranging rooms on the next train. They all seem patently inferior to me. I storm off after hearing again of the coveted exercise classes for adult men.

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Dream Journal

Taking Tom Hanks to the Gala

“Hey I just realized… I’ve met Tom Hanks.” I say this convivially to him as we sit together, waiting for a call so I can escort him further. I’m glad I mentioned it — he really is as nice as everyone says, and we share an appreciative conversation on the unfortunate fact that, for some, Hollywood and the movie industry will be forever coded as gay/liberal. He thinks motion picture and television might be better in that regard. I note that Hannah / Rhey (Daisy Ridley from Star Wars? IDK) had that same problem.

I get the call and ask if we should he over there ASAP — they say they need as many people, as soon as possible. We drive speedily in the silent darkness of the night toward neon-lit old Chinatown for this event, a fancy excavation gala of recent archaeology.

We arrive, the place is absolutely crushed with people (most of whom are there to party and drink). We don’t have two tickets like we’re technically supposed to, but wend our way directly to a staff storage room. While I’m still in the doorway, a shamelessly bitchy rotund blonde ponytail woman taps me on the shoulder to demand I go back in line and have my big bag checked — ignoring the hundreds of people milling around, my staff badge, and the obvious fact that we’re only in this room to stash our bags. I tell her in no uncertain terms that despite all that, I’d be happy to comply, except the request had to come from someone without such a horrible attitude. Immediately afterward I turn to see my friend Ais, who says “well that wasn’t the proper emotional reaction” — I have a brief flash of disappointment, before I realize she means it 100% sarcastically, and she, Tom Hanks and I share a relieved laugh.

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Dream Journal

Replace the Jellyfish

Small home aquarium containing a viable ecosystem of anemones, dark brown/red jellyfish, and colorful nudibranches. I revisit it several times in the course of walking around, and at some point my wife has us remove the jellyfish. The nudibranches have grown since we got them and can lift the anemones and reposition them as they like — smart little critters. But I see that they’ve gotten hungry and so start a quest to replace the jellyfish.

I’m in a neighborhood of lakes and high-rises. Across the water I see an aging building and recall bitterly a deal done with Trump many years back, I get mad enough to lock myself in a nearby public restroom stall and vent my anger by yelling. I emerge only to find an older black dude friend of mine nearby. He says that I should work on myself; he knows I had “psychological problems” in the past but being angry all the time about stuff is harmful.

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Dream Journal

Walk Down the Long Trail

Somewhere in western Illinois. I’m following a rural path that goes straight across the USA. A lantern near a railway track indicates a safe-house for travelers nearby, another lantern hanging from a darkened building to my left. The symbolism of the lantern has been consistent for 100 years or more, but ICE is trying to stop it because it’s used by undocumented people. Further on the trail, it passes through a town and becomes an alley. I’m unpleasantly surprised to find it’s been blocked by a DOD (Department of Defense) gate.

Looking at an overhead map, some of the DOD compound is used by rich folks for wedding photo-ops. A large part of Iowa is flooded and partially blued-out. I think it’s a mapping glitch until I realize, no, most of the state is in fact flooded.

The day after final exam in my High School English teacher Mrs. Roos’ classroom. I’m the only one who finished early and I’ve been hoping to leave for a long while. I’m given a BMX helmet, but examining the tinted visor I suspect it’s not as good as my motorcycle helmet. I leave the room by myself and proceed elsewhere (perhaps to walk the trail).

I’ve been working a long time on getting a brazier properly set up with incense. Despite my efforts it’s still not finished, but I have to use it. My wife points out one of the many flaws in its setup and I get angry at her. At this point my wife actually wakes me up in bed, and tells me everything was ok (thanks, baby!).

Aquarium store with styrofoam tops, like the one I’m building for triops. One fish goes between tanks, sitting on top of them like a wordless Alice-in-Wonderland caterpillar.

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Dream Journal

Smash-a-Window Man

I’m in my truck’s passenger seat. It’s present day me, fully enlightened and conscious. I observe an angry blonde white man with close-cropped hair become angry and start yelling at someone. He sees me looking at him and I try to play it cool, looking away. He rounds the other side of the car and punches right through the window with me inside. I wake up with a short, embarrassing girlish scream.

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Dream Journal

Bedroom Remodel and Big Pool

Mom and Dad’s bedroom in Cathedral City. Furniture has been mostly cleared. Bathroom has had fixtures removed, replaced with single sink. Dad is going to remodel to make the bathroom smaller since Mom is no longer around. In my Cathedral City bedroom, the bed has been moved to be by the corner window. There are white curtains, and a neighbors dog sticks his head in to lick my arm. Our Japanese neighbor seems bothered by this and tries to adjust the curtains. I haven’t made any solutions to the bedroom yet, so there aren’t any clever shelves on the walls (for hidden condoms for instance). There’s a computer desk right next to the bed. I have more room to work with and I’m trying to imagine how I’m going to use it.

In a very big pool connected to the ocean. It’s the end of California street, which is one-way. The waves are large enough that ships would have a hard time sailing through them, that’s why it’s one-way. The next street over has even higher waves. The ocean looks dark, cold, like Eureka, but I’m not scared of it. I’m swimming with many acquaintances, none of whom I know in waking life. There’s a man who comes up, is very angry. He claims none of the males there exist, because he didn’t sire them/create them. I alternately cajole him and sympathize while he’s being floating around on a bogey board. All the while the waves are crashing around.