Friday, January 7, 2011

beneath the burka

Before I tell you my latest dream I will give you a little context. First, the other day, while running at the gym I noticed a woman dancing in front of the racquetball courts. The courts were dark so she was able to use them as a mirror. She was wearing a burka and only dancing with the top half of her body. The dance she was doing was very intricate. I have never seen anyone use their arms in so many different ways. And because she was completely covered, even her face, she looked like some kind of magical flying creature. It was stunning.

Second, I started a new job as an administrative coordinator for a non-profit charity (I believe I’ve said all this correctly). I cannot tell you very much about it, because it is so unique, but it is a job that I want to do well at, and it’s for a cause that really touches me for personal reasons. The problem is that I am totally lost. There are only four people who work in this office, and the girl I am replacing is training me. I have been freaking out because I do not understand all of the job responsibilities plus I am struggling to learn a new database I have never seen before. I have been consumed with anxiety because this job is really important to me, and I really care about the people. I don’t want to let them down.

And third, I have been fighting another cold. So, I have been draining the Nyquil again. I should also note that every dream I have is pretty darn spectacular in some way or another, whether I’m stoned or not. I typically dream in wet paint. I am always in the process of drying in my dreams. And about 90% of the time I smear something on myself. The landscape is typically wet paint too, although there have been trees that have been real and outside of the painting. And while just about everything is wet paint there is often something that is perfectly real inside the painting. Mannequins visit my dreams periodically, as well as music. Music is always visual as well as auditory. If I can hear it then I can see it too. It usually takes on interesting roles such as houses, stairs, clothing. And there are always breasts and armpits in my dreams. I have always had a fascination with these body parts, and have drawn them many ways, so it makes sense that my dreams include them. All of this is when I do not chug the Nyquil. When I chug the Nyquil things get a bit more interesting, and a lot of the wet paint disappears which makes the parts that are wet even more fascinating and meaningful.

In a dream from last week I was in the office where I have been working. It was my first day working alone, without any help, and as I walked into my area I noticed everything was gone. The gal who had the job before me had taken not only her personal items, but also the printers, telephone, pencil holder etc. This made me incredibly frantic because I wasn’t sure how I was going to do the job. As I walked around the area it became obvious that the office was inside the racquetball court at the gym. When I looked out the glass doors I saw the lady dancing. She looked exactly the same as the other day, but unlike the other day, she was stripping down to her skivvies. And as all of her garb fell to the floor I could see that she was tattooed head to toe in the most wonderful fauvist landscape. She danced with just her arms and the movement caused the landscape on her body to change, kind of like tv. The whole time she looked straight at me, and as I woke up I knew that I was looking at myself.


  1. So, now we know that you're going to take this job by the balls, alter it until it works, make it your own and then dance, dance, dance.

    Hannah, you couldn't do anything else.


  2. I couldn't have said it better. You are going to rock this job!

  3. Rumor has it, you've been sick and that you are finally getting better because you finally went to a doctor. I hope so.

    I found a quote, left as a comment on a blog which wasn't put perfectly but captured me. I traveled to her blog. Her blog made me think of you, but so did the initial quote.....

    "Life has seasons and reasons for which we are just living in the story of , and I am at long last quite aware that I am who I am because of my life and not in spite of it . "

    I just wanted to share her with you....
    I could live in a writer's A Frame log home ,
    I think
    On certain nights in summer or late spring
    But even on early winter ones like this
    With it's icy winds making snow drifts as high as the windows
    I'd be all about the firewood stacked and the water gathered and the mouse traps set.
    Poems and witty prose and short essays would appear in the early mornings
    Like the chipmunks and deer and a hawk perhaps.

    After the first week I might get uptight
    One poem and a few a journal entries might drip
    like blood almost
    just before dawn when I'd realize I drank half a bottle of wine instead of beer
    and forgot to look to see if the cat wanted in
    although I don't like cats but writer's need them
    I think
    To remain aloof and disprove any notions of originality

    Certainly the third Saturday would bring a day of such length
    that I'd take a nap
    Before beginning the book
    Then take a walk following the fox tracks all the way to the lake
    a sheet of grey paper
    If I looked long enough I might imagine life differently
    Paint it with more colour in some parts
    Less in others.
    But I'm not an artist
    Or an English teacher
    With a red pen

    Just a woman who can't think of what to say
    When she looks at nothing but herself all day
    Looks at less than what appears in the mirrors and windows
    Who needs you talking so much I can't hear
    for God's sake

    And I inhale and exhale


    This is her address....

    I miss hearing from you (and I don't mean that as a guilt trip).