a night full of dreams.
In the last one I was trying to get to a catch-up appointment with Glenn which was scheduled for 7pm. But it was in Auckland, on Customs St, where the tango studio used to be.
I was walking down Ponsonby Rd to get there and for some reason stopped in this little granny store. The two old ladies in there kept trying to sell me this, that and the next thing - ornamental plates and spoons and so on. I admired a spoon and agreed to buy it, and then they showed me a plate which happened to have a wedding message for my name and N's name (misspelt) so I though I better get that too, and then they were throwing other things in for free, wrapping them up in newspaper. It was getting later and later.
When I got out of there it was already 7, and it was cold. One of the plates, which I'd paid $150 for, had chipped as I put it in my bag and was already worthless but I decided not to mind. I started to walk as quickly as I could to the appointment but once I got down to the end of the road I realised I wasn't where I thought I was. Everything was so familiar but I couldn't remember how to get to his office. I was walking quickly here and there, trying to get there but not knowing where I was going. I decided this was wasting time so I went to pull my phone out of my bag to check the map. (There was an additional wool cardigan in my bag that made this hard - given to me by the old ladies. It wasn't going to fit over my jacket but at least I could put it on under the jacket if I got cold). I realised I couldn't remember the street name, so couldn't look it up on the map. I saw he'd been ringing, because it was now well after quarter past, but there was a new interface on my phone (because I was visiting NZ) and I couldn't get to the calls or texts or find the map. In looking for his text I saw a whole history of warm text messages from therapists I'd forgotten ever seeing, including 'Elizabeth the dramatist' and 'Roslyn'.
A strange man seemed to be following me as I dithered - I stopped and looked at him and he said 'Why are you following me?!' He looked a bit like N. I decided to try to call N but I couldn't get his number punched into the phone. I knew I was missing my appointment. Finally, crying, I turned to the guy following me, which was N, to ask for his help. "I'm lost, I have no idea where I am...". We embraced and I was relieved.
-
The dream before that I was seeing an new therapist and it turned out to be Charles Bernstein. He'd been recommended by LA, who was also seeing him, and she came with me to the appointment, which was in a waiting room. I knew she had been excitedly showing him her poems but I didn't expect to do that. He asked me a question and she started answering about herself, and then carrying on the conversation with another woman in the waiting room (a second therapist). He said we'd better go onto the next room, where it was quieter, so we did. It was his wife's dressing room. It was mosyly empty except for a large chest of drawers and in front of it, a series of large polished stones in a formation on the cream carpet. Some kind of configuration for contemplation, maybe an Eye of Horus. He said 'she has 700 dressers'. 'Capacious', I said. I was adjusting my thinking - I realised this wasn't the hoarding of junk, but the assembly of space and materials essential to a full creative practice.
In the last one I was trying to get to a catch-up appointment with Glenn which was scheduled for 7pm. But it was in Auckland, on Customs St, where the tango studio used to be.
I was walking down Ponsonby Rd to get there and for some reason stopped in this little granny store. The two old ladies in there kept trying to sell me this, that and the next thing - ornamental plates and spoons and so on. I admired a spoon and agreed to buy it, and then they showed me a plate which happened to have a wedding message for my name and N's name (misspelt) so I though I better get that too, and then they were throwing other things in for free, wrapping them up in newspaper. It was getting later and later.
When I got out of there it was already 7, and it was cold. One of the plates, which I'd paid $150 for, had chipped as I put it in my bag and was already worthless but I decided not to mind. I started to walk as quickly as I could to the appointment but once I got down to the end of the road I realised I wasn't where I thought I was. Everything was so familiar but I couldn't remember how to get to his office. I was walking quickly here and there, trying to get there but not knowing where I was going. I decided this was wasting time so I went to pull my phone out of my bag to check the map. (There was an additional wool cardigan in my bag that made this hard - given to me by the old ladies. It wasn't going to fit over my jacket but at least I could put it on under the jacket if I got cold). I realised I couldn't remember the street name, so couldn't look it up on the map. I saw he'd been ringing, because it was now well after quarter past, but there was a new interface on my phone (because I was visiting NZ) and I couldn't get to the calls or texts or find the map. In looking for his text I saw a whole history of warm text messages from therapists I'd forgotten ever seeing, including 'Elizabeth the dramatist' and 'Roslyn'.
A strange man seemed to be following me as I dithered - I stopped and looked at him and he said 'Why are you following me?!' He looked a bit like N. I decided to try to call N but I couldn't get his number punched into the phone. I knew I was missing my appointment. Finally, crying, I turned to the guy following me, which was N, to ask for his help. "I'm lost, I have no idea where I am...". We embraced and I was relieved.
-
The dream before that I was seeing an new therapist and it turned out to be Charles Bernstein. He'd been recommended by LA, who was also seeing him, and she came with me to the appointment, which was in a waiting room. I knew she had been excitedly showing him her poems but I didn't expect to do that. He asked me a question and she started answering about herself, and then carrying on the conversation with another woman in the waiting room (a second therapist). He said we'd better go onto the next room, where it was quieter, so we did. It was his wife's dressing room. It was mosyly empty except for a large chest of drawers and in front of it, a series of large polished stones in a formation on the cream carpet. Some kind of configuration for contemplation, maybe an Eye of Horus. He said 'she has 700 dressers'. 'Capacious', I said. I was adjusting my thinking - I realised this wasn't the hoarding of junk, but the assembly of space and materials essential to a full creative practice.
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