wayfaringwordhack: (art: bosch flying fish)
This is the week to be dreaming about my flist, I guess.

Last night, I dreamed that we were visiting [livejournal.com profile] frigg in Denmark.*

We met by a little lake that had a "fjord" on one side, lovely steep, rippled mountain** flank plunging into the water, and a small village on the other. [livejournal.com profile] frigg was getting ready to swim and her husband and one of their friends were fishing. She told us we could go on without them or stay, whichever we liked. We boated across the lake alone, and then suddenly [livejournal.com profile] frigg was there, too. We walked through the village, then a shop selling antiques and secondhand things, into a back yard. The little shop was just crawling with teen girls, which must have been in my dream because of a convo [livejournal.com profile] frigg and I had about her teaching art to kids of that age.

Turns out the yard was connected to others--yards on each side, separated by tall plank fences with chain link for the back, giving on to prairie land hemmed by forest--and [livejournal.com profile] frigg's house was the next one over. She had planned a big picnic, complete with all her Danish friends and acquaintances, for our arrival. I didn't get to visit much with her because she was so busy--not cooking but being social! Not really like my sickpea at all--so I spent time counting dark-haired, dark-eyed Danes to see if there were more brunettes than blonds, this bit also coming from a convo about [livejournal.com profile] frigg's book starring a blond Danish boy. 

The Sprout and I started coloring and soon we had a bunch of Danish children doing art with us: painting, building sculptures of sundry materials like wood and paper, creating dye-baths (reading a book about dyeing right now).  One little girl, who looked a lot like  Quvenzhané Wallis in this photo from Beasts of the Southern Wild, told us there was a treasure in a murky pool at the foot of a gnarled, hollowed tree stump. We all gathered round, but the dark deep waters were not inviting. No one dared go in search of the treasure...

Speaking of the dream realm, I don't think I'll be shape-shifting any time soon--unless [livejournal.com profile] asakiyume can teach me how to do it in Wakingland--and I highly doubt our visit with [livejournal.com profile] frigg will resemble what my brain threw at me last night, but there is another dream I had back in 2006 that may "happen."

I referenced it in a post--locked, sorry--but this is what I said: Back in Sancerre, I had another "daughter" dream where our girl, only 2-3 yrs old and riding on her daddy's shoulders, was dressed*** the same way. Same tan skin, same light blond, slightly curled hair.

What I didn't specify but still clearly remember was that we were walking in a desert, rolling dunes around us, but where we were the ground was flat from so much foot traffic, hard-packed sand with sharp pebbles.  We weren't in a maze, but there where sheets hanging all around, making it look somewhat like one.  In fact, it looked like a market or encampment...maybe something along the lines of what we will see in Egypt, when S is exactly the age from my dream. 

A dream tied to an art idea, all the way from 2007, has been on my mind of late, now that I'm back into art journaling every day...
* We ARE going to visit [livejournal.com profile] frigg in Denmark, in just two more weeks. :D
**Very funny considering how flat it is where you live, non, [livejournal.com profile] frigg? :P
*** wearing only a pair of white undies. Don't know why she would be dressed like that under the punishing Egypt sun, though. Maybe after a dip in the Rea Sea?
wayfaringwordhack: (Sprout: my loves)
[livejournal.com profile] asakiyume, last night, I dreamed we were shapeshifters. You were a veteran who knew what shapeshifting was all about, but I "lost time," and it was you who explained to me that I had shifted...into a bunny!  I wish I would have posted about it right away because there were so many details, fresh in my mind, to record. I know you had two shapes you could do, but now I can't remember them. I believe one was gazelle/deer/antelope... And I know there was a guru and an island and raiders and a penalty for running from the raiders (they were promised a kind of tithe according to the number of people on the island, and when I got frightened and escaped with the guru, they were shorted...) Yeah, it all made a lot more sense in dreamland. :P

But the day happened, and I'm only sitting down now at the laptop.

Julien was supposed to go the Farmer's Market and I was supposed to go to the store this morning, but as we were getting ready, I noticed a putrid smell coming from S's nose, the kind of smell tha that J had when his incisions got infected after his surgery. So, plans changed, and J took S to the doctor. The doctor didn't dare touch whatever it was and told J to get an otolaryngologist (hereafter ENT) appointment instead.  The ENT could only see S at 5pm, when S had an existing appointment to see a dermatologist about a rash on her scalp, possibly eczema, . Thinking an infection trumped itching, we cancelled the dermatologist (who was angry about it and hung up on J).

The unplanned morning visit to the doctor comprised J's trip to Pau (1.5 hrs away) to get his and S's diplomatic passports for our move to Egypt, so he had to reschedule to tomorrow. 

Instead of spending a day alone, relaxing and writing, I had to nap to try to nip an oncoming headache in the bud. It helped only marginally, and at the ENT's office, the headache came back full force.  Not because of anything seriously wrong with S, though, thank goodness.  The little squirt had stuck some stuffing from one of her toys up her nose, and the ENT was able to pull it out in no time.  We were very relieved that the problem was quickly taken care of.  She has to wait until Saturday now to see a dermatologist about the itching.

In other Sprout news, I bought her her first pairs of underwear today. They are too big for her, intended for 2-3 year-olds, and she'll only be 22 months tomorrow. She is very excited to have undies and has had no accidents. She hasn't had any accidents for a while yet, and she often goes to the bathroom by herself without us offering her a potty opportunity, just goes to sit on her potty and does her business. We've been taking her out without a diaper for several weeks now, even in the car, which we didn't dare do before (even though she is diaper free at the house, if we were going to the doctor or the store, etc. we'd put on a diaper just in case). She is not completely potty trained, but she also had her first diaperless nap today.

Of Dreams

30 Jun 2012 10:39 pm
wayfaringwordhack: (Sprout: my loves)
I wanted to do sketches for these dreams, but if I wait until I have the time to get the sketches right, I'll never post. So:

A couple of nights ago, I dreamed that the Sprout was a shapeshifter. She first shifted into a purple, gerbil type critter, then into a strange thing I have no name for. It looked eerily like an elongated trilobite, but it/she was about 6 inches long and covered in beige and brown mottled fur with two furry appendages that she could curl up over her back like a scorpion's tail, but the appendages were a bit more mobile.  While in her critter forms, I followed her closely because she was just a baby shifter and might have problems changing back on her own.  She ignored me completely, her mind seemingly totally animal-like. No conversation, no human mannerisms.

 She was darting and scrabbling all over the sidewalk by an Egyptian cemetery--no, no pyramids in sight--so I sat on the steps leading into the graveyard to rest; she was as active as a critter as she is in baby form. I remember there was a strange smell, both intoxicating and repulsive, but now I can't recall what odors I thought of in the dream.  

I needn't have worried about her changing. She did a backflip, and POOF, was my toddler again. :P

We wandered down to the beach to find J. He was studying one of the pillar-like gravestones planted in the sand. Not in Egypt any more, though, judging from the names, which, naturally, I can't remember now. They made me think of a mix of Nordic and French is all I can recall.

With the waves pooling around the headstones, I wondered who would want to be buried in such a place, and my thoughts went to war veterans for some reason. I tried to memorize one of the names so I could look it up on the Internet, but I didn't write it down when I woke. :(

Then the next night, I dreamed the Sprout and I were riding double along a lane that passed between meadows and woods. It was one of those drowsy days where the sunlight is a golden presence in the air; and insects, their wings aglow in the syrupy light, hover above grass with nodding seedheads; and the smell of warm earth and cool tree shadow form an intoxicating perfume that makes you drowsy and revives you by turns.

Our horse was ambling along, head down, almost as if sleepwalking, following a flatbed wagon, whose heavy iron wheels squeaked with every turn. S and I were talking about plants, where we would camp that night, etc. when [livejournal.com profile] asakiyume rode up behind us and commented what a lucky girl S was, getting to learn so much and see so much beauty. (This dream must have been in relation to the comment you left on a recent post, [livejournal.com profile] asakiyume.)  I started to reply when suddenly, over [livejournal.com profile] asakiyume's shoulder, I saw a stone colonnade, somewhat like this, appear in the woods, its slender gray columns green twined and flower draped, its worn flagstones dappled with emerald and white light. 

"How beautiful!" I exclaimed.
[livejournal.com profile] asakiyume followed my gaze and nodded. "It is." Judging by her tone, she had seen it before.
As I stared, a portal formed in the archway in the distance. It opened onto Paris, the Eiffel tower framed in its center. And suddenly my sense of wonder vanished. "What a bore!" I thought. "Why not an exotic location?" 
wayfaringwordhack: (critters: chameleon - goofy)
I need to start recording my dreams again.  So I can marvel at the hilarious Weird when I look back on entries like What dreams are made of.
wayfaringwordhack: (art: shroom sweet shroom)

This is not a New Year's post; that will come later.

This is a writer dreaming about a project she has had in mind for several years now, a dream she wonders if she should try to make come true. You can help me fuel the fire by participating in an informal poll:

Say my husband and I bought a property in southern France, near the Pyrenees Mountains and we renovated it so that I could host retreats, workshops, etc for artists, writers, and people interested in learning French cuisine. If money were not an issue (obviously at this stage in the dream I have no concrete idea of how costly this would be*), would staying at such a place interest you?  What kind of services and experience would you be looking for?

ETA: To clarify, J and I aren't ready to hang up our traveling shoes just yet, so this is a project, if undertaken, that will NOT be ready in the immediate future.  We're probably looking at at least 5 years down the line--lots of time to squirrel away some savings. ;) 

And if you want to link to this and get your other writer friends to participate, I'd appreciate it.

* I would have to be able to pay the mortgage on the place and not run myself into debt with food, paying teachers, etc., but my goal with this scheme is not to make scads of money, rather it is to bring creative types to me. I want to be a part of inspiring others and to, in turn, be inspired. And, while I can host events for French speakers and get something out of art lessons, where the written word is concerned, I selfishly want to be able to hobnob with speakers of my native tongue.

wayfaringwordhack: (art journal)
We went to Bayonne today, where I am happy to report, there are a plethora of bookstores.  And in the window of one, I saw a leather-bound tome with three little skulls poking out from the cover.  A convex book, no???
wayfaringwordhack: (art: the reader - fragonard)
Last night, I dreamed I was feeling a bit ill with the beginnings of the flu.  I was scheduled to take a flight for Japan and knew I needed to get some meds first or else the trip was going to be a nightmare.  So, I went to city hall, of course. Isn't that where you go when you need meds in a hurry?  I told a clerk my symptoms, and he came back with a pair of support stockings. Color me skeptical, but I took them and asked where the restroom was so I could put them on.  

"Got back outside and take the little stairwell just to the left stairs coming up here."

I did what he said and ended up in an underground library that scream perfect library ambience: floor to ceiling books bound in leather with gilt lettering, shining brass lamps with green glass shades, reading tables polished to a high shine, and deep, comfy club chairs. The first floor was dedicated to fantasy novels. A man and a woman were reading there and greeted me like an old friend when I entered.

The librarian guided me to the bathroom, which was on the other side of a walkway, overlooking the floors below.  "The books on the next floor down deal with fluid science; below that social history; and on the last floor are the convex books."

Sadly I didn't get to see the convex books. 
wayfaringwordhack: (critters: chameleon - goofy)
Speaking of books, and thereby, in a slanted way, authors, I remembered a dream I had last night.

I needed a haircut, and Neil Gaiman was standing there with a pair of scissors, tapping them against one palm much like one might do with a baseball bat.

I ran my hand through my hair, wondering if I trusted him to cut it.

Then I said, "Of course you do, silly; what else does he do besides cut hair? He's a hair stylist, isn't he?" But a "something isn't right here" thought niggled at me all the while.

And then the dream moved on and I have no idea if I came away well-coiffed or not...
wayfaringwordhack: (paper flames)
Despite going to bed last night with To Be Undone firmly in my thoughts, my dreams instead turned to a meeting with an Assyriologist who wanted me to visit the Louvre* and study the Assyrian artifacts there.  She did not have a very good opinion, I deduced from her expression, of Jean Bottéro,** which seemed odd given that he was a renowned expert in the field. This dream deals directly with my ms The Bitter River, which I am keen to get wrapped up as well, but the research, the research, it is monstrous!

Then, in my waking-dozing state this morning, my thoughts were filled with Witherwilds and things I needed to remember to incorporate or things my sleepy brain found to be genius. My waking mind is not so sure.

This morning, however, I did something stupid that brought TBU back to the forebrain. I scooped a drowning wasp out of a pot of dishwater with my bare finger. I got a sting in form of thanks, and that ouchie reminded me that Phayn, the MC of TBU, is handy with a blowgun. I need to make sure she uses it a bit more in the opening chapters.

* This is a good idea actually, and a trip to Paris for research purposes is in order.

** I'm currently reading one of Bottéro's books, The Oldest Cuisine in the World: Cooking in Mesopotamia,  by Jean Bottéro and Teresa Lavender Fagan.
wayfaringwordhack: (monk)
I don't know if I should be coming back to LJ-land yet, but well, here I am.  I went offline to force myself to get some writing done, and I did, two chapters' worth (4.5K words).  But I'm still three chapters away from the end. I knew when I decided to write the story that these chapters would be the toughest, hence why I saved them for last. I'm not sure now that that was such a brilliant idea. It makes getting to The End that much harder. As if finishing a book needs to be any harder.

I need to do what all writers and concerned friends of writers counsel and Just Write the First Draft. I know that, but the fears of inadequacy, they cripple me.  And they have spilled over into my dreams of late.

In one dream, I had to infiltrate a diabolical sect, but I couldn't even worship the Devil correctly. He refused me!

Last night, I dreamed that I could not take a photograph to save my life. Everything was against me: the light faded; no matter how hard I tried, the image refused to be framed correctly; the camera malfunctioned. Lots of factors outside my control, but I stupidly just kept pushing the button, pushing the button. Finally I turned to another subject, but again, everything went wrong. I thought that I should stop and check my camera, see if it was on, if it had charged batteries, etc. but no, I kept pushing the button.

So I woke up this morning, secure in the knowledge that I feel inadequate, that I have performance anxiety.  Only, I already knew that.  What I need now is the kick to get me past it.

I don't know what to do besides accept that this draft will not be perfect--nor will the next--and just keep typing one word after the next. Yet, that feels frighteningly like pushing the button.

Any advice from the masses who have trod this hellishly hard way before me?
wayfaringwordhack: (Default)
 StPM is probably a pipe dream.

Julien called the StPM office, and the colleague he spoke to told him there is one position open for sure. Maybe two.  One!

Who knows how many hundreds of applications they'll get. For possibly two posts.
Yet we continue to dream. Julien is off work for the next week, but he is at the office now, applying. 

Should know the answer in a few weeks to a month.
wayfaringwordhack: (bosch flying fish)
For the past two nights, but especially last night, I have had nightmares that wake me and keep me from falling back asleep.  The nasty betrayal kind that make you question everything about yourself and those you love. I'm blaming the moon and the move and the fact that we are sleeping in a different bed with our heads facing a different direction.  Oh, and maybe hormones have something to do with it, too.

Today, I am exhausted, so it is a good thing (?) I'm not expected to help out much with the moving/lifting today.  I hope I'll sleep better today so that I can fill my role as co-pilot tomorrow.
wayfaringwordhack: (bosch flying fish)
 I had a waitressing nightmare last night.

I haven't waited tables in...oh, almost 10 years. But I still have nightmares of too many tables to wait, not getting the drinks soon enough, forgetting to turn in orders, customers pissed at me.

These dreams are a sure sign I'm stressed and feeling that things are out of my control.  I'm just hoping that now that the majority of the comparison shopping for the trip is over, I can relax.

I haven't even been able to write this weekend.

I killed off a character, and the writing that was going suddenly became a lot harder. I don't think it was sadness at seeing the character go so much as having too much on my plate to deal with.

At least I hope. I'm going to see if I can get some words now...
wayfaringwordhack: (gecko)
So, the files are still on the HD, and, according to the trial versions of some data recovery software, still in good condition. Nothing appears to be lost, but I haven't decided which program to use to get them back. Not all of the programs recognize the external HD, but File Scavenger does. I think that's the one I'll go with. Just not right now. Recovering, sorting, and saving the files to other media is going to take so much time, something I just don't have right now.

I'm just relieved to know that the files are there when I'm ready to get them.

In the meantime, since we had to take the new pc back, J has been looking at replacements. He's leaning toward an Apple (laptop.) Any recs from you Apple users out there? (He mostly needs it for work on his videos and obviously image treatment is impt to both of us. I need a computer that allows me to write.)

On a completely unrelated note, I had a terrible dream that one of my English students (Oh, I have three now and just forgot to tell you) died with his parents. Gas leak. They shared a house with us, and J and I weren't home at the time. J's the one who found them first, all stretched out peacefully on the floor.  I woke up in tears when I realized (in that still asleep way) that it was Wednesday, and E wouldn't be coming for his lesson. :( Needless to say, I was happy to greet the real world. However, bad dreams or not, he's not getting out of his test. :D
wayfaringwordhack: (bosch flying fish)

This morning I dreamed that I was dining on the lawn of a chateau with 15 or 20 very posh strangers. I don't know why she was with me, but our cat N'djema jumped up on the table and helped herself to some blackberry crumble.  She then proceded to hop all over the pristine tablecloth, leaving behind perfect purple paw prints. I was so embarrassed that I hurriedly shoved her off the table...

and woke up with the flat of my hand hitting a very surprised, very undreamlike N'djema square in the nose. She fell between the mattress and mosquito netting, giving me the most deserved affronted look. The poor thing had a time getting her three legs under her and escaping the stupid flailing human who was trying to apologize.

wayfaringwordhack: (bosch flying fish)
Still having pc problems; still snatching Internet moments when I can.

And what shall I do with this opportunity to speak with my friends? Why, I shall tell you about my dreams...

*I told my m-i-l about this some years ago, and she gave the very typical, "Yes, but it would be so much more convincing if you had told someone about the dream BEFORE you saw it come true" comment. So, if the Moon-cum-Earth (or a planet that looks eerily like Earth) crashes into our world, be my witnesses that I said it first. ;)
wayfaringwordhack: (bosch flying fish)
Last night, I had an extremely flist-oriented set of dreams.

I knew I should have posted about it immediately because now some of the details have escaped me. There was something in there about [profile] magicnoireand her mother who were going on an artist's getaway with me to London. [profile] magicnoirehad four 1.5 x 1.5ft canvasses hanging on the wall of the room where I take African and bellydance classes, and she had painted the first with spraycans (standing at a distance of fifteen feet from the canvas no less) in a sunset landscape as seen through a rainy windowpane. She offered to let me paint one, but I couldn't find any inspiration.

And [personal profile] friggtold me that she was a fan of McDonalds and liked to "contribute to the vertical mass of their empire" whenever she could and that was why she felt compelled to collect the entire set of twenty of some crappy product they had put on the market.

Then I went to the grocery store saw a DVD called Thomas, a Drew Barrymore film with the singer Mika starring opposite her. I bought it and left, but looking at the back copy, I realized I'd already seen. I took it straight back to the store and a very nervous cashier gave me a refund and asked me to return it to the shelves before he fled the store. I did as he asked and discovered the store was under attack by werewolves. Never fear, a civet, which looked strangely raccoon-like, put on one of those gel-packed masks to relieve tired eyes and kicked their butts.

Then there was the matter of someone who looked kind of like me, but wasn't, who tried to poison the king. She seemed to think it served him right because he preferred drinking beer and eating sausages out of a traveling foodstand to running his country.
wayfaringwordhack: (bosch flying fish)

What could look like a cryptic subject line is really nothing of the sort. There are schools and schools of flying fish in the Mahorais lagoon, and as I was watching them the other day, a snippet of poetry occurred to me, which, never fear, I will not share with you here. Something else occurred to me--just the sort of thing I've been waiting to happen: an idea for an original piece of artwork.  I have my other ideas that I hinted at before, but they are pieces concerning everyday life, with a "statement" to make. This new idea is a fantasy piece, something I've always wanted to do.  And just like that, in a flash, I saw it in my mind.

When we got home, I recorded it (along with the stanza) with a very rough sketch. I suffered from no impulses to pretty it up. That right there must mean I'm making progress on the artistic front. *g* (However, I did decide to cancel my art class today, which means won't I learn anything from Marcel today. My arm still hurts from the coral, and the music that woke me up periodically between midnight and 4 didn't help.  I was in no condition to bike over there and stand for 3.5 hours.) I spent a large part of the evening finding reference photos and working up a color palette for the piece. While doing that, I came across the Hieronymus Bosch painting in my new icon that I hadn't seen before. Very fanciful and apt.

I also dreamed of gliding, gleaming fish. I waited too long to record the dream, and now I don't recall it clearly, but there were definitely flying fish in it.

wayfaringwordhack: (Maki World Domination)
Last night, I dreamed of the Antichrist. This could have something to do with finishing Good Omens, the Pratchett/Gaiman novel, last week because the Antichrist of my dreams was no more than five or six and seemed a reasonable kid (not like Damien).  I won't give you all the gory details, tell you of the raids, explosions, and random death, only that he was born one of quintuplets (why not sextuplets? I have no idea), and he killed and skinned his siblings when they were about 2 or 3 (no, please don't ask me how) and kept them under shrink wrap to eat whenever the mood struck him.

He wanted to invite Julien and me to a celebratory feast to his great victory, and I, um, tried to decline graciously.

I woke up several times and told God above and the world at large that I did not wish to be dreaming about the Antichrist, so please, change my nightmares. No such luck. Every time I woke up and fell back asleep (at least 3 times), I fell right back into the same horror.  I wasn't particularly frightened in the dreams, just distraught. Ugh. Here's to hoping tonight's sleep is more relaxing and filled with, I don't know, fluffy bunnies or something. 
wayfaringwordhack: (mayotte)
Quote of the day:

It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop. --Confucius

I read this this morning. It has stuck with me all day and made me feel better in general about all my creative passions, especially my writing. I may be going through one heck of a dry spell, but I haven’t given up.

The painting is coming along famously if I do say so myself. One bit has the potential to become worrisome, but I’m not going to let it trouble me until I’m very certain that I can’t get it right. Depending on mood, I can enjoy or dislike minutia. Hopefully the desire to work on it will stay with me until J gets back.

No matter if the painting is finished, I don’t think he’ll be kindly disposed to its appreciation if I don’t get the house into some kind of order before he gets back. The mess is obviously getting to me, for I had a dream last night that he came home and it wasn’t done. He just kept saying, “Je suis déçu. Je suis vraiment déçu. ” (I’m disappointed. I’m really disappointed.) And all the while he was washing my dirty dishes. Yep, I think la vaisselle will be on my list of things to do before Tuesday afternoon. :D

Wisdom of the day:

Don’t try to cook in a bathing suit.

And speaking of bathing suits, in two months to the day, I will be setting foot on Mayotte.


wayfaringwordhack: (Default)

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