It's been a really long time since I had a variation on this dream, but just before waking up this morning I dreamed that my husband was openly ogling someone right in front of me.
I don't know what the context was, but we were seated at a table somewhere, maybe at some kind of outdoor event. To my left was a Diane Kruger lookalike. In addition to being incredibly beautiful and completely flawless, she seemed to have a perfect personality (unlike grumpy, neurotic ol' me). I think I had made a little superficial conversation with her because she was just so nice that I couldn't be antisocial and ignore her.
After we had exchanged a couple of sentences, my husband leaned over from his position on my right and started brazenly ogling Ms. Kruger-lookalike. I'm not sure if he actually spoke directly to her, but he was clearly completely smitten and I had hopelessly lost the battle of comparisons. I don't remember if I objected verbally to his ogling or if he just saw that I was disturbed, but in response to my irritation he started in on a list of her virtues and my deficiencies.
Up to this point the dream followed the usual template, but whereas usually I just slink off and disappear to nurse my hurt feelings elsewhere, this time I practically exploded. I first ranted at him that he was being really rude to Ms. Kruger-lookalike by ogling her so brazenly. Then I may have added that I didn't cotton well to his ogling of her either--I'm not sure if I verbalized that. I do remember going into his flaws, although I don't remember what any of them were other than a failure to do the dishes. I think I went so far as to say that I wasn't sure I loved him anymore. The whole dream was extremely disturbing, and the aftertaste was pretty disturbing as well.
Showing posts with label body image. Show all posts
Showing posts with label body image. Show all posts
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
ugh
I seem to either be only having unpleasant dreams lately or only remembering the unpleasant parts. Last night I dreamed that I was driving somewhere on an important work-related errand. I was coming up to a place where the two lanes merged, with concrete barriers on each side, and I was behind one of those large Old People cars, driven by a man in his late 60s or early 70s, accompanied by his wife and a somewhat younger woman. I was in a hurry and supposing that they were driving at around the speed limit, but it turned out that they were going about 10 mph. As I approached the spot where the lane ended, I realized that my speed/distance calculations had been way off. They were going so slow that I slid into both their car (on the left) and the concrete wall (on the right). It was a terrible, slow-motion, sinking feeling.
Of course we all got out of the cars, and the guy was furious. He was yelling and going on and on about what an awful person I was, what a reckless, selfish driver, etc., and he of course went on to some blanket indictments of almost all drivers (apparently everyone who dared hope to drive over 10 mph). Of course I felt both terrible and stupid about the accident, but got more irritated as he kept on railing. His wife seemed to share his opinion, although she didn't really vocalize, but the younger woman (sister-in-law was my impression) was more sympathetic.
I don't know how the whole thing played out, but somehow the whole driver's side door had come off of my car. I was also stressed about not getting whatever the work-related task was done, stressed about some wardrobe-related issue (I think I had been intending to make a critical outfit change while running the errand). To top things off, as the guy was yelling and waving his arms I realized that I had recently [in the dream] rear-ended someone. The whole thing was extremely unpleasant and insecurity-inducing.
Then, while mulling that over this morning, I remembered an unpleasant dream from last week. I don't remember what was going on, but I was in some social setting when I suddenly realized that my neck was covered with 1/2-inch to 1-inch hair! It was light blond, but that didn't help much. I was mortified, wondering how long I had been hairy-necked without noticing, and mortified when I realized that I was out in public with no good way of getting rid of the hair.
Of course we all got out of the cars, and the guy was furious. He was yelling and going on and on about what an awful person I was, what a reckless, selfish driver, etc., and he of course went on to some blanket indictments of almost all drivers (apparently everyone who dared hope to drive over 10 mph). Of course I felt both terrible and stupid about the accident, but got more irritated as he kept on railing. His wife seemed to share his opinion, although she didn't really vocalize, but the younger woman (sister-in-law was my impression) was more sympathetic.
I don't know how the whole thing played out, but somehow the whole driver's side door had come off of my car. I was also stressed about not getting whatever the work-related task was done, stressed about some wardrobe-related issue (I think I had been intending to make a critical outfit change while running the errand). To top things off, as the guy was yelling and waving his arms I realized that I had recently [in the dream] rear-ended someone. The whole thing was extremely unpleasant and insecurity-inducing.
Then, while mulling that over this morning, I remembered an unpleasant dream from last week. I don't remember what was going on, but I was in some social setting when I suddenly realized that my neck was covered with 1/2-inch to 1-inch hair! It was light blond, but that didn't help much. I was mortified, wondering how long I had been hairy-necked without noticing, and mortified when I realized that I was out in public with no good way of getting rid of the hair.
Friday, July 17, 2009
more [overflowing] baggage
I had a long, detailed, and unsettling dream this morning. I was on a group trip (sigh) with a lot of college-age kids (I was also that age), including some random former classmates from elementary school through college.
The trip was to India, and we were staying at a large, run-down resort. The hotel was very old, and pieced-together in the way of old buildings that have been added on to over and over. It was a weird mixture of good old (antiques), just run-down old, and new. There were a couple of pools outside that were especially impressive: a freshwater infinity pool and, just beside it overlooking the actual ocean, a rocky saltwater pool. The rocks were set up so that the seawater sloshed in and out over them, but swimmers wouldn't be washed out to sea. It was a really nice setup, so nice that the temptation to swim there overcame my desire to not expose my flabby belly.
There was some random exploration of the hotel, and a lot of time spent on my part preparing to swim. This involved showering, picking out the most flattering combination of a variety of unmatching two-pieces, and putting on various lotions and makeup. I was very stuck on the idea that I needed to look as good as possible for the swimming, but I also recognized that I was being obsessive, and I was frustrated that supper time was approaching and it was going to be too late to swim for more than a few minutes.
Other hotel curiosities were the stairways and elevators. The stairways were very narrow and low-ceilinged, so low-ceilinged that I was hesitant to try them. The hotel contained a lot of stories, though, so I decided to try the elevator. It seemed normal when I stepped in with another person, but morphed into a sort of minivan when we got down to ground level. She took charge and drove it, rather crazily, to another building on the resort grounds. I decided not to take the elevator again.
The whole atmosphere became a little oppressive once I started paying attention. The workers at the resort, if not openly hostile, obviously hated us all and hated the fact that we were there. Most of them were quiet about it, but not all. On an exploratory trip with some other people on a remote upstairs wing of the building, we came to a large open room decorated with lots of Indian things--rugs, hanging lamps, etc. We were interested because it seemed like The Real Thing and not something for tourist consumption, but when the man inside it saw us he got up from his folding chair and started yelling and gesticulating wildly at us to leave. A couple of younger men who could have been his sons arrived and went inside the room to start some kind of ecstatic religious dance, while the man kept on yelling at us.
After that, I think there was another mini-episode in which I was trying to sort through overflowing baggage to get ready to swim (I never did get to swim in the whole dream).
Then things switched to another story line. I was still at the resort, but it was night and the group had been given free time. I was in an upper story, very reminiscent of an airport, with little bars one after the other, not separated by walls. I was following around an older guy who was a mixture of several former professors and bosses, with a dash of David Carradine thrown in. I wasn't sure why I was following him, but I knew I was supposed to stick with him even though he wasn't interacting much with me. His demeanor was sort of your average Troubled Antihero, silent, brooding, with his mind obviously on something. He would stop at one of the bars and order two drinks (once it was a "lemon fizz" and a gin and tonic, I can't remember the others), one of which was obviously supposed to be for me. Since I was following him somewhat at a distance, though, I wasn't quite sure what to do. He never really gestured for me to come over, but his two-drink order made it clear that I was supposed to be with him. Each time, he would get the two drinks, look at them distractedly, brood for a while, push them back toward the bartender, and leave for the next bar without actually consuming anything. I got the impression that all this was leading up to some kind of action of vengeance on his part, although toward whom I wasn't sure.
This puzzling action went on for a while, and he eventually morphed into my husband. I don't remember what happened then, except that I was relieved to be back on more familiar ground.
The trip was to India, and we were staying at a large, run-down resort. The hotel was very old, and pieced-together in the way of old buildings that have been added on to over and over. It was a weird mixture of good old (antiques), just run-down old, and new. There were a couple of pools outside that were especially impressive: a freshwater infinity pool and, just beside it overlooking the actual ocean, a rocky saltwater pool. The rocks were set up so that the seawater sloshed in and out over them, but swimmers wouldn't be washed out to sea. It was a really nice setup, so nice that the temptation to swim there overcame my desire to not expose my flabby belly.
There was some random exploration of the hotel, and a lot of time spent on my part preparing to swim. This involved showering, picking out the most flattering combination of a variety of unmatching two-pieces, and putting on various lotions and makeup. I was very stuck on the idea that I needed to look as good as possible for the swimming, but I also recognized that I was being obsessive, and I was frustrated that supper time was approaching and it was going to be too late to swim for more than a few minutes.
Other hotel curiosities were the stairways and elevators. The stairways were very narrow and low-ceilinged, so low-ceilinged that I was hesitant to try them. The hotel contained a lot of stories, though, so I decided to try the elevator. It seemed normal when I stepped in with another person, but morphed into a sort of minivan when we got down to ground level. She took charge and drove it, rather crazily, to another building on the resort grounds. I decided not to take the elevator again.
The whole atmosphere became a little oppressive once I started paying attention. The workers at the resort, if not openly hostile, obviously hated us all and hated the fact that we were there. Most of them were quiet about it, but not all. On an exploratory trip with some other people on a remote upstairs wing of the building, we came to a large open room decorated with lots of Indian things--rugs, hanging lamps, etc. We were interested because it seemed like The Real Thing and not something for tourist consumption, but when the man inside it saw us he got up from his folding chair and started yelling and gesticulating wildly at us to leave. A couple of younger men who could have been his sons arrived and went inside the room to start some kind of ecstatic religious dance, while the man kept on yelling at us.
After that, I think there was another mini-episode in which I was trying to sort through overflowing baggage to get ready to swim (I never did get to swim in the whole dream).
Then things switched to another story line. I was still at the resort, but it was night and the group had been given free time. I was in an upper story, very reminiscent of an airport, with little bars one after the other, not separated by walls. I was following around an older guy who was a mixture of several former professors and bosses, with a dash of David Carradine thrown in. I wasn't sure why I was following him, but I knew I was supposed to stick with him even though he wasn't interacting much with me. His demeanor was sort of your average Troubled Antihero, silent, brooding, with his mind obviously on something. He would stop at one of the bars and order two drinks (once it was a "lemon fizz" and a gin and tonic, I can't remember the others), one of which was obviously supposed to be for me. Since I was following him somewhat at a distance, though, I wasn't quite sure what to do. He never really gestured for me to come over, but his two-drink order made it clear that I was supposed to be with him. Each time, he would get the two drinks, look at them distractedly, brood for a while, push them back toward the bartender, and leave for the next bar without actually consuming anything. I got the impression that all this was leading up to some kind of action of vengeance on his part, although toward whom I wasn't sure.
This puzzling action went on for a while, and he eventually morphed into my husband. I don't remember what happened then, except that I was relieved to be back on more familiar ground.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Jeans
I had a dream last night where I decided that my boot cut jeans made my ankles look fat. I think I was walking in front of those shoe mirrors (the tiny mirrors that that have at shoe stores so you can only see your feet & some calves) and was overwhelmed by how huge the ankles were. And I was then given some advice that I need to start wearing skinny jeans.
My first thought when I woke up this morning was that I should buy skinny jeans.
Then I left the apartment and saw someone wearing a pair of skinny jeans and remembered that they look good on exactly NO ONE and especially not people my size. So thanks for nothing, dream.
My first thought when I woke up this morning was that I should buy skinny jeans.
Then I left the apartment and saw someone wearing a pair of skinny jeans and remembered that they look good on exactly NO ONE and especially not people my size. So thanks for nothing, dream.
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