So, I've been consciously asking my brain to remember dreams again since I heard part of a Radio Lab in which I learned that Robert Louis Stevenson would command the little people in his head to tell him a story. I have no little people in my head to command, but I'm pretty sure I heard a couple of real estate agents talking while a young girl, sitting on her front porch, leaned wearily against a post. No kidding, they are in there somewhere. I didn't sense that they were there for me, so I won't ask anything of them unless they want to contribute to my dreams.
I did have a dream last night that was symbolic of my illness (whatever that may be). I had a newborn baby, but it was disturbing to look at him from the neck down, because you could see all of his internal organs including his heart. He was still okay, but he didn't have the fat or skin that keeps our ugly, organ modesty. This was in part from seeing The Shape of Water yesterday and the creatures naked body was so strange and revealing.
I dreamed I swaddled him. He was sweet. I loved him. I called the daycare to see if they would watch him while I went to work, but no, they needed a few days probably because of the whole visible-guts thing. Then I begged my husband to stay home with him so that I could go to work because I just knew I was needed (I think a lot of myself). He absolutely refused, and I was so angry because his work day on a Tuesday was relatively trivial (at least I believed that).
So it was then that I realized that this baby was 100% mine. My illness. I can't leave him with my husband and be free for a few hours. This baby must be with me all the time because no one else wants him. And still, I love him. Which I think is poignant, and I hope it represents some sort of new self-love I'm discovering. My body is not betraying me. It is not the enemy. It needs love, help, care, and maybe a doctor to stick the guts back in.
PS The painting is "Mother's Love" by Amanda Jackson. That they are looking away from the artist just works somehow as I think about them in the context of my dream.
I did have a dream last night that was symbolic of my illness (whatever that may be). I had a newborn baby, but it was disturbing to look at him from the neck down, because you could see all of his internal organs including his heart. He was still okay, but he didn't have the fat or skin that keeps our ugly, organ modesty. This was in part from seeing The Shape of Water yesterday and the creatures naked body was so strange and revealing.
I dreamed I swaddled him. He was sweet. I loved him. I called the daycare to see if they would watch him while I went to work, but no, they needed a few days probably because of the whole visible-guts thing. Then I begged my husband to stay home with him so that I could go to work because I just knew I was needed (I think a lot of myself). He absolutely refused, and I was so angry because his work day on a Tuesday was relatively trivial (at least I believed that).
So it was then that I realized that this baby was 100% mine. My illness. I can't leave him with my husband and be free for a few hours. This baby must be with me all the time because no one else wants him. And still, I love him. Which I think is poignant, and I hope it represents some sort of new self-love I'm discovering. My body is not betraying me. It is not the enemy. It needs love, help, care, and maybe a doctor to stick the guts back in.
PS The painting is "Mother's Love" by Amanda Jackson. That they are looking away from the artist just works somehow as I think about them in the context of my dream.
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