Where's the village?

Saturday, January 27, 2007


I had this totally messed up dream last night in which I was staying at a B&B and this suave, 50-ish guy with prematurely white hair (it's some actor, I can freakin' see him in my head but I can't even think of what he's been in recently so I can't IMDb him*) made a totally obvious pass at me. As in, trying to dance with me and rubbing his hard-on against me! Which, let me tell you, hardly ever happened to me even before I got married. And when he put his hand on my ass I grabbed his hand and tossed it away from me, said, "You may not," and walked away angrily. Yes, I remember that in my dream I walked away angrily. If I were taller it would have been stalking away angrily but I'm only five-four and you can't pull that off with legs that only come up to here instead of there.

Anyway, later I noticed that I was naked.

Let's pause for a second and remember that I'm in a dream, here. But still, WTF?

So I'm naked, and now I'm feeling a little guilty like maybe my being naked gave Suave-Silvery-Guy the wrong message. (Which idea fills me with outrage now that I'm awake and I'll be having a talk with my dream-self someday when I take that lucid dreaming seminar I've always wanted to take.) But I'm feeling guilty and so I grab some kind of cheap-graphic-printed blanket (like a Spiderman or Batman blanket or something - this B&B was a classy place, let me tell you - did I mention we had to wash our own dishes there? That was in the dream too) and I wrap the cheesy blanket around myself and go upstairs, where I debate on telling the dajadaddy about the whole ordeal. (Which also bugs me, why would I even debate it?) But it turns out to be a moot point because he's asleep. I didn't even occur to me to wake him...I'm wondering why, now. Anyway.

Then I don't remember how, but I end up with some sleeping pills in my hand and I try to take them so I can go to sleep just like the dajadaddy, but they kind of fall apart as I put them in my mouth, so now I have nasty medicine powder coating my tongue and useless, icky, empty capsules rattling around in my mouth and scratching my throat as I swallow them. And that's all I remember.

That was a lot more fun to write after two goblets of mead and two goblets of wine than it was to tell this morning before breakfast or coffee. But it's still bizarre. Which? Totally par for the course. Every time I tell the dajadaddy one of my dreams he tells me some variant on "You crazy."

But why, why, why did I title this post "Boundaries" when I should have titled it "Crazy Woman! Run Away!" Because in some weird way, I'm proud of myself for that saucy, little "You may not" that I tossed off to Silvery Guy. Like no way I'm gonna let my boundaries be crossed without permission, boyee, so watch my big white you-know-you-want-it-cuz-you-tried-to-grab-it butt go walking away from you for good. Three snaps and all that.

Hey. I take 'em where I can get 'em. Um, empowering moments, that is.

*Come to think of it, I'm glad I can't think of who it is. It was messed up enough without having permanent weird creepy sexual associations with someone I might actually recognize in real life. That's happened to me before and I'm just glad I don't work with him anymore. Nuff said.


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