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smokingbootSnow on the ground, pink sky on the horizon; pink featured a lot in my dreams last night, when I dreamed I was wearing it from head to toe; I saw a pink jacket, and put on a top to match, and two old acquaintances, one a friend, the other not, did the cuffs up for me, for they were a bit fiddly, being slightly tight and fringed with lacey bits and pearl bead buttons. When all was done, I looked at myself in the mirror, pleased. I think this dream is a metaphor given shape, the phrase 'in the pink' exemplified, because by god I feel better for that injection!
Saturday was extremely painful. But now the pain is almost gone, in fact it is gone, maybe a little shadow of a warning remains if I exert the foot too much. I have been told to basically do absolutely nothing for a fortnight. But even now, the lack of a sting in my movements is liberating, and I realise now how much it hurt for months, for two years even. How did I just go along with it? This is wonderful! And as for doing nothing, easier instructions there never were. Where would I go? It's snowing again!
Friday I dreamt I was in a studenty type house kissing and being passionately kissed by a young man in his early 20s. He was a goth, but though his hair was black it wasn't long, and he didn't have a handsome face, but his features were very intelligent and expressive, the sort of man who some call pretty. He loved being kissed, and I loved kissing him, though I was not in love with him, nor was I going to have sex with him. R came in and my first determination was to keep it quiet, as there was no way to express that this wasn't a betrayal or a danger to our relationship. The young man would keep speaking to me even through the walls. It occurred to me - I might have asked him - that he might be what Freud (JUNG!) would call my animus, but I have always regarded that whole body of theory as very suspect. But what it does feel like to me is my animated zippy self not curtailed by hobbling. I used to love running, not the sensible fitbit habit of accumulating steps to lose weight, but dashing down a street for the sake of the feeling. Maybe I am past that, same as the day I realised I was past playing on the swings, something I did way past infancy, again for the sensation (memory; a gent passing by as I would swing upwards and back. He was passing that same way home from work for years, and as I grew older, would smile a bit to see me do the same thing at 14 as I did at 9, but he never bothered me, and I reckon he was sad the day I left the park for good.) But the dream, the dream! I don't really believe in the divisions of anima and animus, but that boy feels more like who I am when I'm experiencing, thinking, enjoying.
And I'm so much closer to that version of me, it's a delight.
Saturday was extremely painful. But now the pain is almost gone, in fact it is gone, maybe a little shadow of a warning remains if I exert the foot too much. I have been told to basically do absolutely nothing for a fortnight. But even now, the lack of a sting in my movements is liberating, and I realise now how much it hurt for months, for two years even. How did I just go along with it? This is wonderful! And as for doing nothing, easier instructions there never were. Where would I go? It's snowing again!
Friday I dreamt I was in a studenty type house kissing and being passionately kissed by a young man in his early 20s. He was a goth, but though his hair was black it wasn't long, and he didn't have a handsome face, but his features were very intelligent and expressive, the sort of man who some call pretty. He loved being kissed, and I loved kissing him, though I was not in love with him, nor was I going to have sex with him. R came in and my first determination was to keep it quiet, as there was no way to express that this wasn't a betrayal or a danger to our relationship. The young man would keep speaking to me even through the walls. It occurred to me - I might have asked him - that he might be what Freud (JUNG!) would call my animus, but I have always regarded that whole body of theory as very suspect. But what it does feel like to me is my animated zippy self not curtailed by hobbling. I used to love running, not the sensible fitbit habit of accumulating steps to lose weight, but dashing down a street for the sake of the feeling. Maybe I am past that, same as the day I realised I was past playing on the swings, something I did way past infancy, again for the sensation (memory; a gent passing by as I would swing upwards and back. He was passing that same way home from work for years, and as I grew older, would smile a bit to see me do the same thing at 14 as I did at 9, but he never bothered me, and I reckon he was sad the day I left the park for good.) But the dream, the dream! I don't really believe in the divisions of anima and animus, but that boy feels more like who I am when I'm experiencing, thinking, enjoying.
And I'm so much closer to that version of me, it's a delight.
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Date: 2023-01-16 11:05 am (UTC)Freud would have called him a figment of your sexual frustration. 😀
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Date: 2023-01-16 11:26 am (UTC)Hilarious but mortifying, thanks for correcting me, I'm going to fix it right now.