Godzilla Kisses

A couple nights ago, I dreamed that Amy Winehouse and I burned down my childhood home, in an attempt to decoy someone who was following us for nefarious purposes. We wanted to burn it down to the ground, but we failed and only burnt out the back; the facade was still standing, and there were a lot of smoke-and-fire-damaged items left in the rooms and in the back yard.

1. Dreams last night of fresh paint on my clothes, and of people falling into bottomless crevasses. Repeatedly.

2a. One of the reasons I have been thinking a lot about memoir these past few days is that last year, I wrote a grant proposal to the National Queer Arts Festival to curate a show that would have been called "My Butch Body." The NQAF suggested at some point that I develop it as a solo performance instead, and came >this close< to giving me $ and a performance space to do it in. They are still encouraging me to do it for a future year.

The prospect kinda terrifies me. *My* body? And only my body? And no multiplicity of voices to let you all know that, dudes, butch bodies are diverse as fuck?

And what is there to say about *my* body in that context, anyway, that's worth more than, say, ten minutes of your time?

Yeah. Like that. And even though the point has been moot for months, I worry at it like a bad tooth. Attraction/repulsion. I hear good art can come out of that sort of dynamic. And now, as the NQAF starts soliciting grants for next year, the point is no longer moot again, and I have all these fabulous inspiring performances dancing in my head, too. So that's kinda where I am and where I'm coming from.

2b. I think some of my resistance to memoir is also that it's too linear in its Platonic form. When I break out of that and start organizing material thematically (see above), it becomes more interesting and appealing. Still a challenge, still not my preferred mode, but suddenly, possibilities open up and ennui falls away.

3. Meanwhile, I still have another project to finish. I think this week, or next.

Last night was a series of vivid dreams: one about losing a front tooth, one about a baby shower, and one about a game that was a cross between Scrabble and dominoes.

I would prefer less dreams and more restful sleep, please.

I dreamed last night that I had finished the manuscript of my Project and was ready to show it to readers, except that most of the pages were still handwritten.

I went to go type it up, and had a brainstorm that the main character should have vivid dreams about female pirates at regular intervals throughout the story.

From BabyCenter's discussion of Pregnancy Dreams:

"Here's a look at some common themes and what they may mean, according to Patricia Garfield, a clinical psychologist and author of Women's Bodies, Women's Dreams.

You're caring for baby animals. During the second trimester, many pregnant women dream about cuddly, baby-like animals, such as puppies, chicks, and kittens. Friendly creatures in your dreams are generally thought to signify that you're tuned in to your instincts. Menacing animals, on the other hand, may represent ambivalence about the strange new creature coming into your life.

You have a sexy encounter with an old flame. Many mothers-to-be are concerned about their changing figure and its effect on their sex life — while many others feel more sexually charged than ever. Both feelings are often reflected in your dreams. Not only do erotic dreams offer comforting reassurance, but they may mirror the sexiness you feel during your waking hours, too.

Your mate is straying. If you dream that your partner hooks up with an ex-girlfriend or a total stranger, it can signal insecurity about holding his love and attention through a time of great change. Right now, you're dependent on the goodwill and support of those around you, especially your partner. Fearing his loss is a common emotional reaction to being pregnant."

Uh, I can safely say I have had none of those dreams these past few weeks. Yup.

(Sexy encounters with strangers, though, yeah, that.)

So, who's gonna tell me what my weirdo pregnancy dreams mean? A reminder of some recent ones:

1. Two soccer teams play a game underwater.
2. Me and my father both have glass eyes. Mine falls out.
3. I flew to Mongolia, after some fretting.
4. Lansing.
5. I interview Bruce Springsteen about his poly lifestyle.
6. "Dinosaur Stomping and the Hegemony," a WisCon panel.

Got it? Go!

I dreamed that Chelsea and Arsenal (the soccer teams, y'all) were playing a game...underwater.

I dreamed last night that I had a glass eye. So did my father. Mine fell out, and I couldn't get it in again.

This dream was actually a few days ago.

I dreamed that I had been given a ticket to fly to Mongolia for a vacation. It had always been my dream to go to Mongolia! Wow! Except that I was going alone, and I was pregnant, and it was such a long and likely uncomfortable flight, and maybe I didn't want to go after all. Not here. Not now. But it's a once in a lifetime chance! So I went.

Mongolia was very yellow and dry, fwiw. And the food was odd.

The weirdest thing about this dream, aside from its vividness, is that apparently my unconscious mind knows that Ulanbaatar (aka Ulan Bator, aka Ulan Batar, etc.) is the capital of Mongolia (where I was going, natch), while I'm not sure that I could have recalled that tidbit consciously.

Also, I have been dreaming a lot lately of Lansing.

But I do not intend to chronicle every vivid dream until they decide to recede again. Last night's was all about goodbadgirl, nothing naughty, just hanging out in the park under some trees.

This one's for borggrrl:

Last night I dreamed I was attending a Bruce Springsteen concert. I was to interview him afterwards. It was there I found out he was poly, a bottom, and dating the WisCon Guest of Honor's girlfriend. He saw her making out with yet another woman in the front row of the concert hall, and that's why he sang an unscheduled, very sad song as his opener in response. But they worked it out in the end and all was well.

Last night, I dreamed I was trying to schedule a panel for WisCon called "Dinosaur Stomping and the Hegemony."

You know the famous stories of people solving difficult problems in their sleep, like how the periodic table came to Mendeleyev in a dream?

Saturday, I had a dream. I was dreaming of fattoush (tomato salad with pita bread). "But that seems too light to serve as a meal in itself," I dreamed, just as I had been thinking when I was awake for a few days. "Oh! I know!" I answered myself, still in my dream. "I can serve it with fried potatoes with garlic and lemon. That will round it out."

And then I woke up.

(Guess what we're having for dinner tonight?)

I had a dream last night that I had left my jacket and bag on a BART train, and I was having the hardest time finding their number so I could call and alert them.

Interestingly, I had no fear that they'd be stolen.

P.S. mass transit stations often figure in my dream landscape.

I dreamed last night of bubble wrap.

I dreamed last night that my family was moving to Berkeley. My mother had taken a job at the university. I asked her if she'd quit her old job. "Yes," she said, "I told them I was taking a sabbatical." That's not the same thing, I said. "I've never quit a job before," she said.

I dreamed last night that my corporate overlord had decided to rearrange our job duties, and from now on, we would be exclusively engaged in captioning lolcat pics.

I am not making this up.

Last night, I dreamed that I used to write five articles daily at a thousand words each for a former job, so writing five thousand words a day wasn't going to be a problem for me now. (Not that anyone's asking me for that sort of output, dreamwise or otherwise.)

I used to write *one* article a day at a thousand words (at most) for that former job. But it's nice to know that my own subconscious is cheerleading for me.

I dreamed last night that I had very unruly sideburns that needed to be trimmed immediately.