This is just a short thought or two thanks to yet another night of intensive subconscious activity provoked by hormonal fluctuations. I woke at 2am from a dream where I was pinning down a baby on the floor, my baby, although not one I recognised from waking life. I was in a rage and wanted to kill it. It must’ve been less than a year old but could speak, although I can’t remember what it said and there was no clear indicator of whether it was male or female. I do remember answering it back:
“Why would you trust me? How do you know I won’t fucking kill you?
I didn’t kill it. I just remember holding it down and it was trying to break free and making noises of discontent yet not screaming nor crying.
When I woke, I was hot. I wasn’t sweating but I was definitely hot. I tried to gauge the air temperature to see if the heating had randomly come on despite knowing full well it hadn’t. I threw off the blankets, I’m down to three as it is and they’re thin. I breathed deeply til I fell back into sleep.
The next round saw me trying to hit someone in the face with a pan which was half full of water. I was failing; the pan kept going straight through him. It didn’t matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t having an impact at all.
The third and final memory of the night involved a fat woman with anal incontinence. I have no idea who she was, but I know she wanted to be my friend and I somehow ended up being responsible to clean up the shit she was doing indiscriminately.
I woke early for what seemed like no reason and it’s probably not surprising I felt like I’d done ten rounds with Tyson. A superficial analysis tells me the baby is probably representing a new project which I feel in danger of sabotaging. The inability to hit him with the pan is probably an expression of powerlessness within that particular relationship. My contained controlled hurled emotions don’t affect him. And nor should they, but adjustments are rarely easy. The new friend is probably someone I could do without although I don’t know what it relates to in waking life – if she’s an aspect of self, it could be a warning to stay away from cake and make more effort to exercise. There’s something in there regarding cleaning up after myself too, or at least not leaving my shit everywhere for others to deal with. Not that there’s anyone here to clean up after me.
The other day I spoke briefly to an older woman; not wanting to miss an opportunity to complain about dry hair, dizzy spells and the inability to tolerate caffeine or alcohol, I asked her how long the worst of her symptoms had lasted. I found it interesting her reply was along the lines of “Yes, it’s one of the last big taboos is menopause”. Maybe she was politely telling me to shut the fuck up, another side effect of decreasing oestrogen. A lack of patience with anyone and everything which is not altogether discreet from time to time. Is menopause still a taboo? Maybe it is. It’s one hell of a reminder of mortality that’s for sure. I’m sure part of the issue is its connection to the monthly bleed – no one really wants to hear about any of that. Well, maybe the fetishists do but most normal people sure as fuck don’t. And yeah, there are men out there who are obsessed with periods. They’ll go as far as raiding the bins in the ladies. I know, it’s fucking disgusting and I don’t really know what else to say on that.
My youngest son turns fifteen today and I have family coming over later to celebrate. I’d forgotten I also agreed to have a granddaughter over to sleep and I’ve an online tutorial; although I’m sure she’ll be good enough whilst I’m distracted. I’ve already done half a week of study this morning and had a nap. I need to do get off my arse and do some yoga before daughter number three turns up to help with the food. I’m still sat here in my pyjamas and it’s two in the afternoon…