a bull-cat

Jeff's love of bulldog's is becoming a psychological symbol for me. I dreamt about taking care of this man's dog for him while he was away. The circumstances were odd. I was watching the dog outside near his parked car and a silver fence that the bulldog was chained to. A very heavy chain. There was also a little kennel attached to the fence and the man tried to put his dog in it and some how the dog got free in the process and ran away like a bolt of lightening. The dog's mannerisms through out had indicated how his will was set to run away and that no opportunity would be squandered. It was so like a dream in that moment, the action didn't correspond with any kind of reality. I didn't see the dog physically escape or even see his figure running. It was more like a magician saying the magic words and poof- he disappears. I'm not sure why, but at that point I just began to casually walk the other way down this wooded road. In a matter of seconds I was picked up by the cops on the grounds that I had stolen the mans dog. I was quite incredulous, as to my mind both me and that man had witnessed his dog run away. I don't remember how the dialogue went after this, but in response to something said I expressed that I wasn't done until I had found the dog and by that action cleared my own name. A full on hunt began in which the cops, myself, my brother and other friends and on lookers tried to find the dog. I managed to spot him through a pile of bramble in the dip of a hill and tore after him. He took off and everyone seemed to think on their heels, John went off in a direction that he knew he would be able to intercept the dogs path and the rest of us followed suit like balls on a billiard table. A girl below me cut-off the dogs path from the left and I put myself directly in his path and he was forced to run right into my arms. He was a feisty, willful creature and I knew it would be near impossible for me to restrain him on my own and as soon as I got a hold of him called for help and tried to grab him in such a way as to secure my hold. I did not get help but in the end had him pinned on his back, my chest pressing him down and a hand firmly on his upper right leg and and lower left. And so I looked closely at this dog for the first time and what I saw was half cat, half bulldog. Cat ears and cat paws with a bulldog face and round belly. I was stunned.

I see some of the obvious symbols- the cops. Being chained. The dog wanted to be a free spirit. The man who wanted me to watch his dog was one of those uptight sporty middle-ageish white guys. He embodied control freak and probably asshole. I'm still serving that part of myself. He's such a bully that I listen.

The last dream I had ended with me half hanging out of an upstairs crevice, stuck. Trying to get up but in danger of letting a pile of fine cut crystal glasses falling and probably being destroyed. Because Julie was stupid. I was moping because I wanted to join the kids game and even though I had gotten their first they weren't necessarily going to include me. To get in that position I had rushed through a fancy full dinner, everyone in evening wear, and I only realized after I had hopped up on the table and walked across three dinner plates of food just what I had done. Oops. This is another one of those funny things about dreams. The upstairs of this home had no stairs to get to it. Just a sort of person-wide sliver above our heads that I could get to by being on top of this table. The kids were very young around six years old. Except for the Julie girl, she was a little older, 11 maybe? She had leaned into a shelving unit off to the right which put pressure on all the glasses and pushed them over the edge little by little. I yelled at her to stop but she didn't comprehend how she was involved or how her actions had precipitated the problem and it irritated me greatly. I asked her to grab the precarious glasses that were staying up only because I was using my body to block their fall and I couldn't go anywhere until they were safely moved. The girl was daft. It was in her eyes, a vacancy. Which I suspect is how I feel about myself at that age. Vacant. But the six year old girl was precocious, like my little cousin Julia. I don't think I was precocious at six, but I was lively and sweet. (At least I am given to understand from my mother that is how I was.) I remember being happy when I was very young. I remember being unhappy in Georgia. Unhappy inside of myself. Unhappy with myself. Everything seemed wrong. I did, my family, the kids in the neighborhood, school. There was a lot of good. I remember the good things... But I was discontent inside. Which seems like such a strong word for a child, it's more a Richard the Third kind of feeling. Grand and oppressive. But my spirit was very oppressed. I felt very alone. Out of step with my friends and the kids in the neighborhood and perhaps disconnected from my family. John began being cruel to me in Georgia, I was the recipient of a lot of his aggression. My mother who had always seemed perfect to me was seperating from me which made me believe I was deficient, as well as the treatment of my peers who saw me as odd. I was constantly afraid and I didn't understand what was going on pretty much ever. Life went wrong in Georgia. All aspects had spiraled out of control. I have no physical memories of my father before Georgia. I remember things with my mom, and with my brother. But I can't see my father in any of those memories... Georgia was when I began to reject myself because all these indicators seemed to come back showing me all these horrible things about myself. I was a kid, how else could I have processed what was going on? I'm embarrassed by the things that I openly struggled with at that age. I couldn't hide them because inside it was like I was drowning in these fears. I saw myself as weak, I look back and see that little girl as weak. Weak, vacant, stupid. I ended up hating who I saw myself as and trying to change all of those hateful things about her so that she could be loved... So that there was something there to love. My strongest impulse was to please which called me to some odd roles through out my life. I think I wanted to please my mom the most when we lived in Georgia. I can't fully understand why I became so consumed by fear... It feels like a part of my nature, like it is made up in my being. I saw my brother as my opposite, I was controlled by fear and he had none. He was controlled by anger, violent anger. Violent fear, violent anger. We neither of us could help it or control it. But I feel that my mother understood my brothers anger better than she understood my fear, at least in John's anger she could see a reflection of herself. I hate fear, passionately. I wish I knew the violence and power of anger. Even my anger is timid and gentle. A little poof of a flame that is harmless.

Didn't really expect to go there in this blog...