katy strained, bob agave
Sleeping atrociously lightly in a hotel bed beside my brother, resorting to headphones pumping Selected Ambient Works, Vol. II at me and still no deep slumber, I can barely remember my dreams now, but once again they were anxiety dreams about fatherhood.
In the dream, procreation was a whole other thing, nothing to do with sex, and babies were somewhat more like cats or monkeys, especially insomuch as they came out a lot more alert and ready to start wandering around the world -- not the big-brained slow-developing extra-uterine fetuses we humans actually make. Anyway, I had one child already, who was more like a pet at first but I knew was also my child (Spacecat analog?), and then I had twins with -- and again, this is a lot less creepy than it sounds, if you remember babies didn't come from sex in this dream world -- my mother. It wasn't my mom, it was some character of the dream who was my mother in the dream. I was irresponsible (or was I busy? I cannot get a handle now on if we were an alien culture with alien ways and I had things I had to tend to, or if we were basically humans except this one thing and I was lazy...) and absent for their births, and so their(/my) mother named them for me. She named the first one Katy, middle named Strained, because and I quote, "That was the name of both our lovers." (In the dream I remember thinking, oh the only person this mother-character ever loved was named Kathryn, and I dated a Katie, so she put them together to make Katy, okay -- and I found this very moving.) The second twin was named Bob, and the middle name is on the tip of my tongue but I can't recall it. Something like Ariadne or Agave. Yeah, Bob. In my dream, I'll be honest with you, I don't remember it registering at all that this was my father's name.
Anyway, more than their names, I remember having to sneak into the nursery or whatever to see my babies, and loving the everlovin' shit out of them at every opportunity, but I was supposed to do other things or be another kind of guy, and I was really deeply concerned about two things: a) what people would think that I wanted to love on my kids so much, that I basically took pride in them as (let's be honest) extensions of my own ego; and b) that the others who were caring for them weren't loving or tender enough with them and they would become hard and cold because of it. I was scared of them growing up without love, and I was bucking whatever strange tradition my dream head was taking for granted in order to sneak in and give them love. Holding my baby cat-monkeys was like a drug to me: shameful and thrilling.
That's all I can give you. I slept horribly. Katy Strained Ezell and Bob something-like-Agave Ezell. A third baby, just older, who I thought of more as a pet (maybe that's how I was supposed to think of all of them?), and a weird culture that considered parenting and child-rearing taboo and weird.
Guh. Did I mention how horribly I slept?
We're in Missoula, MT, on our way to the Mitchell Family Reunion. I'm killing myself with anxiety over my RACC application, which is due in less than a week. The further we go the less sure I am I'll have internet (wifi at the hotel here is super-spotty, lasting in roughly 15 or 30 minute chunks), and it's an all-online application. Which I have not written. Which I cannot concentrate on. Also which asks for budget information I have not put together yet. All of which would be reasonable if I were sitting at home with all my papers in front of me, compiling and cleverly selling myself and pitching my production. Instead I'm driving long days in a car with my family, sleeping in tiny hotel rooms with my family, squeezed into a corner trying desperately to maintain focus on the task at hand, and maintain clarity and confidence in a dozen mini-essays, pitching The World of Missing Persons to the grant board.
No pressure!
In the dream, procreation was a whole other thing, nothing to do with sex, and babies were somewhat more like cats or monkeys, especially insomuch as they came out a lot more alert and ready to start wandering around the world -- not the big-brained slow-developing extra-uterine fetuses we humans actually make. Anyway, I had one child already, who was more like a pet at first but I knew was also my child (Spacecat analog?), and then I had twins with -- and again, this is a lot less creepy than it sounds, if you remember babies didn't come from sex in this dream world -- my mother. It wasn't my mom, it was some character of the dream who was my mother in the dream. I was irresponsible (or was I busy? I cannot get a handle now on if we were an alien culture with alien ways and I had things I had to tend to, or if we were basically humans except this one thing and I was lazy...) and absent for their births, and so their(/my) mother named them for me. She named the first one Katy, middle named Strained, because and I quote, "That was the name of both our lovers." (In the dream I remember thinking, oh the only person this mother-character ever loved was named Kathryn, and I dated a Katie, so she put them together to make Katy, okay -- and I found this very moving.) The second twin was named Bob, and the middle name is on the tip of my tongue but I can't recall it. Something like Ariadne or Agave. Yeah, Bob. In my dream, I'll be honest with you, I don't remember it registering at all that this was my father's name.
Anyway, more than their names, I remember having to sneak into the nursery or whatever to see my babies, and loving the everlovin' shit out of them at every opportunity, but I was supposed to do other things or be another kind of guy, and I was really deeply concerned about two things: a) what people would think that I wanted to love on my kids so much, that I basically took pride in them as (let's be honest) extensions of my own ego; and b) that the others who were caring for them weren't loving or tender enough with them and they would become hard and cold because of it. I was scared of them growing up without love, and I was bucking whatever strange tradition my dream head was taking for granted in order to sneak in and give them love. Holding my baby cat-monkeys was like a drug to me: shameful and thrilling.
That's all I can give you. I slept horribly. Katy Strained Ezell and Bob something-like-Agave Ezell. A third baby, just older, who I thought of more as a pet (maybe that's how I was supposed to think of all of them?), and a weird culture that considered parenting and child-rearing taboo and weird.
Guh. Did I mention how horribly I slept?
We're in Missoula, MT, on our way to the Mitchell Family Reunion. I'm killing myself with anxiety over my RACC application, which is due in less than a week. The further we go the less sure I am I'll have internet (wifi at the hotel here is super-spotty, lasting in roughly 15 or 30 minute chunks), and it's an all-online application. Which I have not written. Which I cannot concentrate on. Also which asks for budget information I have not put together yet. All of which would be reasonable if I were sitting at home with all my papers in front of me, compiling and cleverly selling myself and pitching my production. Instead I'm driving long days in a car with my family, sleeping in tiny hotel rooms with my family, squeezed into a corner trying desperately to maintain focus on the task at hand, and maintain clarity and confidence in a dozen mini-essays, pitching The World of Missing Persons to the grant board.
No pressure!