![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
muckefuckI've been dreaming a lot lately--which is bad news, because it means I'm not sleeping soundly. The usual stuff, for the most part (though perhaps with less travel anxiety and more RPG products). One dream from a couple of days ago stuck out because it featured Monshu. It was brief, but you could find lots of symbolism in it if so inclined.
The setting was a messed-up version of the house in Troy. Monshu said something to me (a bit of badinage?) and then passed into the hallway. I was hungry and about to prepare some food, but it occurred to me that I saw him seldom now that he was dead and if I waited too long, he'd be gone again, so I went after him. When I stepped into the hallway, the closet [which didn't exist--it was only a bulletin board] was open and I noticed that most of his Buddhist altar supplies were gone. Instead there was just some open space above a pile of folded cloths.
I figured he'd gone up to the bedroom, but there were no stairs. It was like they'd been torn out and I had to chimney my way up to the second floor. The bed was against the far wall and he was lying with his back towards me wearing a t-shirt and dark shorts. There was room enough for me to lie down next to him and spoon. I awoke to find myself in the same position, but instead of him warm in my arms it was the cat.
Have at it, Freudians!
I feel like I've been missing him more lately and I can't find much cause unless it's simply his birthday coming up again. He was sick for so long that there's no time of year which doesn't remind me me of him. There is the gap between his cremation in mid-December and his memorial service in late March, but January and February are depressive months to be in Chicago regardless. (Not to mention that I was crushed by grief for much of that first winter and snow and cold remind me of that.)
Oddly, I think the part of the dream that resonated with me the most was the wrecked stairway. I sometimes feel like the house is falling down around me. (He was always the one with less tolerance for mess and malfunction.) The faucet in the downstairs bath has been leaking for years but a few days ago it went from a drip to a trickle. I ended up putting an empty wastepaper basket under it to soften the sound and it filled up within in hour. I was wondering if this would be what finally pushed me to get it fixed when a day later it mysteriously stopped leaking almost entirely before returning to its regular drip last night.
The setting was a messed-up version of the house in Troy. Monshu said something to me (a bit of badinage?) and then passed into the hallway. I was hungry and about to prepare some food, but it occurred to me that I saw him seldom now that he was dead and if I waited too long, he'd be gone again, so I went after him. When I stepped into the hallway, the closet [which didn't exist--it was only a bulletin board] was open and I noticed that most of his Buddhist altar supplies were gone. Instead there was just some open space above a pile of folded cloths.
I figured he'd gone up to the bedroom, but there were no stairs. It was like they'd been torn out and I had to chimney my way up to the second floor. The bed was against the far wall and he was lying with his back towards me wearing a t-shirt and dark shorts. There was room enough for me to lie down next to him and spoon. I awoke to find myself in the same position, but instead of him warm in my arms it was the cat.
Have at it, Freudians!
I feel like I've been missing him more lately and I can't find much cause unless it's simply his birthday coming up again. He was sick for so long that there's no time of year which doesn't remind me me of him. There is the gap between his cremation in mid-December and his memorial service in late March, but January and February are depressive months to be in Chicago regardless. (Not to mention that I was crushed by grief for much of that first winter and snow and cold remind me of that.)
Oddly, I think the part of the dream that resonated with me the most was the wrecked stairway. I sometimes feel like the house is falling down around me. (He was always the one with less tolerance for mess and malfunction.) The faucet in the downstairs bath has been leaking for years but a few days ago it went from a drip to a trickle. I ended up putting an empty wastepaper basket under it to soften the sound and it filled up within in hour. I was wondering if this would be what finally pushed me to get it fixed when a day later it mysteriously stopped leaking almost entirely before returning to its regular drip last night.