Dreams

It's been a really crazy week for me, trying to figure out some sad issues with my friends. It's so hard not liking a friend's partner. I tried and tried, but I just couldn't like her. And she made it hard to like her, by being rude to me and rude to other people and in general just being really antisocial and pushing people away. And in the end I kind of threw up my hands about it last year. I'm just not in that part of my life anymore, where I need to impress people who don't like me and win over people that are aggressive. I've never had a hard time making friends. It seems like for every rude, closed-off person, there are 20 perfectly nice, open people I can talk to and share my days with. So I focused my energy on other friends and kind of left that friendship on the back burner, thinking things were still amiable with my friend.

Wheeeewwww but was I wrong! After inviting her out for coffee last weekend, she blew up at me via email, paragraph after paragraph of vitriol about how cold and uncaring I am. The whole situation is really hard, because my friend is not thinking very clearly, and it's hard to reason with a person who is in such a panicked state. Truthfully, there was nothing I could do but leave the invitation open to her, so that we can all sit down and talk about it. So far she has refused, and that's her choice. It's a stand-off: I refuse to hang out with someone who disrespects me (her partner), and my friend refuses to hang out with people who don't like her partner (unfortunately this has been an issue with more people than just me). So, what is there to do? I dunno.

This situation has led to some really intense dreams, which I don't have very often.

One night, I dreamed that I was combing my hair with my fingers, and big clumps of hair were falling out in my hands. [The internet said the combing means I'm putting my life in order, and the falling hair is a sign that I am thinking about my age, both of which are totally true.]

The next night, I dreamed that I was in a baseball stadium, when someone shot me. The bullet only made a little bit of blood, but when I pulled my shirt up, yellow liquid was streaming out. 'Is that bile?' I thought to myself. 'It must be from my stomach.' All these people were staring but nobody would talk to me. 'Somebody call 991!' I wailed, as people looked away. 'Call them, call them!' I walked down the block, wondering why more blood didn't come out of me. I was walking down University Avenue in St. Paul, one of the more torn-up parts of town. An ambulance came around the corner and stopped for me. The people clambered out and I was looking amongst them for my mother. 'Where's my mom? Where's my mom?!' [According to the internet, the shooting is me feeling victimized, the bile is my anger, the people coming out of the ambulance are me hanging with the wrong crowd, the ambulance is my careless actions causing harm, and my mother is... my mother.]