Interpreting the Dream


I have already gone in a direction from which it will be difficult to turn back.  However, it is not impossible.  It could have been much worse.  It’s not because I didn’t see the warning signs — there were no warning signs to see; I even double-checked.

I don’t know why I went this way when it would have been so easy to turn back when I realized there was no way out except the way I came in.  I didn’t feel scared and I didn’t feel apprehensive.  I was looking for something in particular and this seemed like a possible place to find it.

Disaster has been averted.  Now what do I do?  I can park at the side of the road and check out some of the activities; I’m not in danger while I’m out of my car.  Or  I can back, very carefully, to the intersection and continue my search.  I’m not going to get anywhere here, and I’m not going to find what I want. 

I need to get off this road.


Part of me has been violated and is yelling out for the rest of me to help, but being ignored.

That sounds silly, but in theory it’s what I need to examine first.  Okay, I can think of a lot of ways I’ve abused my body and mind. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.  The sexual aspect is hard to imagine applying to myself in any way — it dedinitely stands for something else.  the oral sex suggests eating, and the fully-clothed act-out of intercourse — I don’t know.  the man who does that is deeply mentally ill and somewhat out of touch with reality, as am I; I wonder if this is saying that I’m violating myself without compete understanding of what I’m doing, maybe of the right and wrong of it. No, the crazy guy knows what he’s doing, and there’s no doubt in my mind as I yell for help that I consider him responsible as well as accountable.  But he doesn’t seem scared of consequences.  Nobody believes me anyway; maybe he expected this.  No, this is delving into areas I can’t apply to myself.

I know nothing is going to happen to me.  I know I can continue with impunity.  All the awareness in the world never changed a thing if it didn’t lead to action.

Published in: on January 30, 2012 at 11:16 pm  Leave a Comment  

A Disturbing Story-Dream

I had a dream last night that seems likely to  indicate that I had entered on a course that would be hard to get out of and was stopped just in time to avoid misfortune or tragedy.  It was a pretty open-and-shut thing; here it is:

I am driving a car, bound for somethere in particular.  I seem to be in a residential area.  I turn left onto a street and only realize as I do so that there’s a sign saying No Outlet or Dead End.    

The street isn’t deserted.  There are other people on it, and some cars parked on the edges.  One side has some fields and a wooded hill going up, in which lights can be seen; people are hiking and throwing a ball or something.  The road might be gravel, and it seems bumpy or holey.  The margins are grass.

The people who watch me drive by seem unfriendly and possibly disreputable.  The car behind me turns out to be a police car, and I get pulled over.  I’m not sure if it’s night or day at this point, but it isn’t until I have talked to the policeman (about a light or something?) that I get out and realize I was about to go off an abrupt drop of about six feet. 

At the bottom of the drop is a long green field, apparently a soccer field.  Some kids are playing in the distance.  Against the foot is a step that a sure-footed person could jump to and then step down to the grass, and for a moment I think maybe a car could do it too, like bumping down stairs;  but then I realize that a car certainly could not, that if it went over it would be wrecked.  I observe that there should be a railing here, or at least a sign.  In fact, I check for a sign, and there isn’t one. 

I walk back to the intersection and enter a house there  and when I emerge I talk to some of the people on the porch.  There is a conversation of some kind about watches.


Now what?  Could this be referring to the surgery I was going to have?  If so, it’s easy to conjecture that the unmarked drop could refer to medical complications or side effects.  I don’t know if that’s what it is.

This was the end of a much longer dream that involved people on stage, me walking into a city, and a lot of other things, including a very disgusting scene in which I am ordered to give some guy head in a business of some kind that I and others have entered and which is invaded by some kind of Bad Guys.  When I shout in outrage, reporting what he did, people don’t believe me.  this is doubly disturbing because the night before I had a long dream which included a scene in which I was sexually assaulted.  Neither one involved intercourse, and in neither one was I traumatized per se but in both cases I shouted enraged and descriptive accusations, forcing myself to say what was done to me and trying to get the perp arrested — and nobody believed me.  Two nights in a row.  (Like that dream I had right after I declared my Faith, in which I tried to drag a rapist out of a car and the people with me wouldn’t help.)

Looks like I’ve switched topics here.

Published in: on January 30, 2012 at 8:27 pm  Leave a Comment  

Stephen Colbert, Holy Rood, and My Parents.

This was taken in Holy Rood Cemetary.  The date is accurate.  I am the child in the red coat.

We lived in a house that had originally been a caretaker’s house in this Catholic cemetary. How about that!  We spent several years there, and only left when we did because the house was condemned.  I don’t remember many details of that time, but I came years later to understand that we were very poor.

I’m sort of embarassed to be so happy that we lived so close to the hospital where Stephen was born just a few months after this was taken.  (i was born there too, as were the other three kids you see here — there were eventually five.)  Before learning that the Colberts lived in Bethesda at the time, I had come to imagine that they probably knew my parents.  If you had been a Catholic, active in the parish business of Holy Trinity, and working in the Civil Rights Movement, you would have known them.  Every parish we belonged to brought them in contact with people with whom you would not expect them to mix, because they were just so remarkable and brave.  My dad was an actor (not how he supported himself) and they were both what Stephen calls his parents; that is, like him I was “raised by intellectuals, who were very devout. I was raised to believe that you could question the church and still be a Catholic.”

About three years before I “discovered” The Colbert Report, I began attending Mass again, not regularly, and not because I didn’t condider myself a Baha’i anymore.  It was because I can’t stand the way the baha’is around here worship.  I retturened to the Chrurch and felt the presence of God and finally, as an adult, truly understood what was being read and said, and I understood the miracle of the Eucharist and had to admit that it would probably mean more to me to take it now that it did all those years.  (Of course i didn’t.)  

Published in: on January 18, 2012 at 9:22 pm  Leave a Comment  


I got home and took off my portable oxygen and wound up the tube, then when tucking it in behind the tank (which was on the radiator) I stepped on the tube connected to my nebulizer and pulled the whole machine down into the paper recycling. Then when I came into by bedroom, I had to carefully avoid three tubes that can be connected to my oxygen concentrator: the one to my sleep machine, the short one I attach when I sit at my computer, and the LONG one I attach when I need oxygen elsewhere in the apartment. Too many tubes: a pretty good problem to have.

Published in: on January 18, 2012 at 2:44 pm  Leave a Comment  

Today’s List

  • that Buick out there
  • Harley
  • Chloe on my disk
  • nasal cannulas
  • penne
  • Scrabble
  • paper towels
  • black pepper
  • my C hat
  • randomness
  • over-the-door hooks
  • ibuprofen
  • possibilities
  • baskets
Published in: on January 12, 2012 at 3:57 pm  Leave a Comment  

A Character

‎”The Scientist” was killed by a vampire while she was administering a lie-detector test to Stephen. Now she “haunts” him, believing herself to be protecting him from a vampiric plot to somehow bring him down. Is there such a plot? Stephen can’t see The Scientist, but his boyfriend can; add to the mix a psychic medium who comes to investigate and you have a very strange story about communication and Trouble.

Published in: on January 12, 2012 at 3:50 pm  Leave a Comment  

Who needs mistletoe?

Who needs mistletoe?

Christmas morning, 2011
Graterford, PA

Published in: on January 11, 2012 at 6:54 pm  Leave a Comment  

The Scientist

I am a ghost that follows Stephen Colbert.  He cannot see me, but his lover Jon can, and isn’t afraid.  He’s tried to communicate with me.  Stephen has become reconciled to my presence, though he doesn’t understand it.  He was there when I died, knows who I am, and calls me The Scientist.  I can create noises and move things in his home, but I don’t.  I just keep vigil.  He tried to save my life; I try to save his; though forces much stronger than me are plotting to end it.

I have never loved before; Stephen is the first.  It started when he turned his back to a vampire to pray over my corpse.  He was weeping.  I watched the tears form in his eyes and hang for a moment on his dark lower lashes before dropping to his cheeks.  he never tried to wipe them away.  I thought I had never seen such beautiful grief, and for a stranger, an unfeeling scientist performing a test.  At that moment I ceased to be a woman of stone.

When he finally turned back to the creature, now appearing human, he said only, “Why?”  The man said, “You can run . . . but you can’t hide.  You’re free to go.”  We walked out into the light, down the sidewalks of Manhattan, Colbert stunned and silent as we made our way to the high-rise apartment he shares with a cat.  It was hours before he was rearrested (leaving the scene of a crime) — he spent two weeks in an in-patient facility being treated for various conditions consequent to his imprisonment in London.

Colbert didn’t attend my funeral, but he probably wouldn’t have;  was already being questioned about my death, the second homicide he was suspected of.

That’s the back story.  Now I spend most of my time with him, at home and at work.  Unbeknownst to Stephen,  Minnalousche can see me and puts up with me, as can the dog at his studio.  (Most animals can.) There is also a lunch delivery boy who can.  I have learned from the reactions of him and of Jon (especially Jon’s first reaction, the night Stephen learned I was there) that the ability to see ghosts is not that unusual but merely something that such people don’t talk about much.

So here is what happened today:

When I emerged from the door at the top of the stairs, following one of the security men, Jon was at the bottom with a woman.  She was dressed in Kenyan garments and was looking directly at me.  Jon bantered with the guard and sent him on his way.  (“I’ll take care of him from here.”)  Then he smiled at me, as to a friend, looked at her, and said, “Okay, Regina?”

“Okay,” said the woman.

I sat down on the steps.

I wish I could do phoenetic justice to the woman’s thick honeyed drawl and Negrospeak.  “Baby, what you doin’?  Mista Stewa’t say you followin’ his boyfrien’ like you got a mission.”  The “baby” was pure Southern; she spoke with authority.

“I do, ” I said.  “Vampires are setting him up to take the fall for crimes he didn’t commit.  I can help him.”

“How you gone do that.  Cause you can’t be hauntin’ de man fo’evah.”

Haunting.  I had never thought of it like that.  I thought haunting was when you did scary things and ran people out of houses.

Stephen wasn’t paying attention to her; he was smiling at Jon.  “Hey, what’s up?  To what do I owe a visit from the boss?”  He loped down and shook Jon’s hand, then turned to Regina, apparently taking her for a fan who had waited.  The urge to run my fingers through his freshly-shampooed and ungelled hair, to touch the laugh lines around his eyes, was almost overwhelming.

Jon put his hand on the other woman’s shoulder and said, “Regina here is a medium.”

“Oh, really?  Is this about The Scientist?”

“Well, she thinks she’s protecting you.”  Jon glanced at me.

Stephen followed his gaze and looked directly at my shoulder, not seeing it.  “Maybe she is.  Protecting me.  I didn’t realize there was an issue with her.”

“They’s a issue wid a ghos’ bein’ in New Yo’k City.”  I cannot do her accent justice.  ” Wid any ob de ghos’ in de city. Dey’s hundreds.”  Regina was rather astonishingly beautiful with the aura of royalty and skin as black as a Dinka’s, and she was stout; she held her head high and made eye contact with Stephen, which he met with obvious admiration.

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “South Carolina?”


I cleared my throat and she looked at me.  I asked, “What’s on the agenda?  Are you going to exorcise me?”


Published in: on January 10, 2012 at 2:10 pm  Leave a Comment