My Recurring Dreams
Interrupted while masturbating. This is a classic. Just can’t get the job done. People keep walking in on me, no matter what closet I hide in. (Closet = symbol for something really obvious? Must look into this.) Especially disturbing when person interrupting is my father.
Moving out of my parents’ house. This is a new theme, introduced by my subconscious after I got back from Denver last week. I’m either lying around all foggy in my folks’ house and then I wake up and go, “Wait a minute, the semester’s half over and I have classes to go to, I have my own apartment, I have an amazingly supportive boyfriend, and I’m supposed to be applying to film school! Where the fuck did I park my car?” Either that or I’m already at college and I have an amazingly supportive vegan girlfriend and I’m all confident and driven and focused and grounded. (In short, nothing like I am in real life.)
Dropping the baby. I’m walking along, carrying Jackson, and then whoops! Shit! Right on his head in the middle of the crosswalk! Last night I actually dropped him on a nice sprung wood floor during a dance rehearsal. And the truly awful thing is, I kind of meant to do it. Saving grace: Jackson is never hurt. But I feel tremendously guilty for the whole day after having this dream.
Why do I have an eyebrow growing out of my chin? This is not a dream, this is a fact. I have a long, black hair growing out of my chin, and every time I pluck it it just grows back. I also have one long black hair growing out of each areola (you know, that little halo around your nipple). Jack is fascinated by these nipple hairs. He used to come at me with a razor and swipe them off, but ever since I did all that breastfeeding he just looks at them with a bemused/resigned “I feel strangely at peace when I see that they’re still there” expression.
More body hair news: The other day Jack was in a position to examine my leg hair more closely than usual (I’m not saying how, but you should go ahead and think something dirty), and he was struck by the fact that, at the moment, I have more hair on my legs than he does. Yes, if I let the shaving go for a day or two I start to look like Broadway Joe. You have to be a special kind of guy to continue doing what Jack was doing while my hirsute, manly popliteal spaces were gripping his acoustic meatus.