Lutin said this week was going to be full of ghosts

So far I’ve only really had two in real life, though I suppose I have to count the third one I really wasn’t going to count because I didn’t think they’d been gone enough to really be ghost-like, but then I dreamed last night, and in that theater, this person did indeed count as a ghost.  The two I counted in real life were on facebook, and benign, and even welcome, so that’s okay.  The third ghost-not-ghost wasn’t bothering me until the dream, and basically this morning I’m wincing and groaning a little.  Damn subconscious.  Always so slow to get memos.

Though I’d like to write off all my dreams from last night, thank you.  They were even more annoying than the fact that my right hand is falling asleep again, though the improvement is that it’s JUST the hand now, not the whole arm.  I am anticipating the chiropractor’s excitement when I tell him this.  He’s already in love with my shoulder in only a way a chiropractor can be.  But I digress.  The dream.

The ghost bit was just annoying, the same old same old, dreams from years ago come back like they’d never left, except, as I write this, I realize I’ve improved just slightly because while I knew I was the same, I worked very hard to not let anyone know, and the best part was I had this Team that went around with me, aiding and abetting, and there was never confrontation, and I never got hurt.  Except this was all happening on a beach, and when it was done, I told Dan I’d take Anna to the car and come pick him up.  Don’t ask me why, but it worked in the dream.  

So I get the car, strap Anna in her seat (she’s four in the dream), and I think, "I should lock the doors," and as soon as I think that, someone tries to get in the car. I get the back doors locked in time, but the front passenger seat fails to lock, and the guy gets in.

I am angry, angry, angry with my subconscious, because the man is black, and he is a thug.  I have a racist, stereotyped subconscious.  I am so disappointed.  I think he had to be black, though, because he had to be Other, because he was very smooth-talking, trying to convince me to let him kidnap me and my car and my kid, and I think I was unable to act because, retardedly, I didn’t want to be racist.  Actually, this is all very good for therapy, where I am talking about being too nice, of providing false fronts where people then think they are my new best friend or can ask me do to, say, or be anything, and I am standing there hating them but can’t speak about it because I am so heavily programmed that I can’t be mean unless someone is being a horrible ass.  I still think it was dumb that he was black, though.  I can think of at least seven archetypes which wouldn’t have been so gauche. But the key was that he was an invader, he was a threat, but he wasn’t MEAN, just sleazy, so I couldn’t fight him.

Anyway, the good news is that I got him out, dumping him in front of a bunch of other people who were doing the same thing, but they were in this mob, trying to get other people to buy their shit or take them somewhere or do other things they didn’t want to do.  I’m not sure how it worked, but somehow he couldn’t force me to do anything once I rolled down the window and they started in, and I got him out.  But then I wasn’t in the place where Dan was going to meet me, and I couldn’t stay because of the mob.  I started driving around in a busy city that reminded me of Chicago, needing to call him, but I couldn’t get to my phone, and I wasn’t sure he had his on.  (Very real life.) 

The weirdest part is that somehow I ended up going up a hill that was so steep it was practically sheer, and of all things, I was going up it now on a bike.  Anna was behind me on her trail-a-bike, no longer four but her actual age now, and she’s nervous, but I tell her to just keep pedaling, just keep going, because we’re almost there.  There’s a guy beside us biking, as if to prove it can be done.  But it’s SO steep, and soon the bike wheels start spinning against the pavement, unable to go.  The guy’s tires do, too.  We’re stuck.

I turn to look back down the hill, and I about throw up.  I can’t go back down it on the bike.  I’ll die.  But I can’t go up, and for some reason walking is out.  I turn to the guy, looking at him in panic as I try to keep my voice light as I reassure Anna.  The guy points to the right, and we go onto this side street that looks like Iowa City, still a hill, and it’s the wrong way, but it’s not as impossible, and there are other people there.  I start up it.

Then I wake up.  And deliberately do not let myself go back to sleep so I don’t dream again.

So, I don’t know what this means.  Maybe it means nothing.  I guess at least the ghost didn’t get me, and I didn’t fall down the hill. 

Dan, start taking your goddamn phone with you.  Everywhere.  And make sure it’s on.  And for the next month or so, you are WALKING ME to the car if we’re ever in a busy area.

ETA: I was thinking about this as I drove Anna to school, and I realized that it wasn’t the guy on the bike who suggested the turn-off, but me.  Somehow that seems important.

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