Dreams vol. 2

The power went off this morning. Luckily, my alarm had already clicked on so I didn’t wake up late. Had I been working for Head Start, this obviously would have cost me my job. Just another example of why their AWOL policy is completely unreasonable.

Here’s the summary from last night’s dream-fest. Click on the links to see what the interpretation is:

My closest friends and I were walking for miles along a busy highway in the pouring rain. Oddly enough, we were leading three horses: One black, one white, one brown. I have no clue why we weren’t riding them, but the overall feel was pure exhaustion, as if the horses were going to pass out at any second. 

 Finally dusk fell, and we got to our destination: The Durango Mall. My friend JL was holding the white horse, I was holding the black horse, and my friend Jiji’s husband was hold the brown horse. We went into what looked like a movie theatre, an old school one, with a big red curtain over the screen. We tried to take the horses into the theatre, and they told us we had to stay outside.

Jiji and my two other friends Curmudge and her hubby looked at us and said, “You can wait out there, and we’ll go see the movie.”SO JL, Grady and I stood in the lobby of the movie theatre with three horses. For some reason, we were in complete shock that they wouldn’t let us bring horses into a movie theatre, and my friend’s husband was pissed that she had ditched him in the lobby.

The horses started falling down from exhaustion, and I remember laying down and falling asleep on the black horse’s belly.

I think my brain is incredibly grateful that Venus in Retrograde is over, and I can lay down next to my symbolic horse and relax for a while. What have your dreams been like lately?

More on my REM-induced story lines:

Single mom dreams

I’ve been taking Tylenol PM at night so I can endure the Strep Throat and get some rest.  Consequently, my dreams have been kooky.

I had this one about 2 days ago, so the details are a little fuzzy:

I dreamed something in my house broke, and my landlord called a handyman to fix it. He was an older man, about 50ish, with a kind face. He inspected my house, while I followed him around. He noticed that one of my plants was dying. He told me knew how to fix it. He then re-potted and pruned the leaves off of the plant, and it immediately started blossoming little yellow flowers. He was like the magic Handyman/Botanist.

This one was from Last night:

I dreamed I was leaving Durango. I was speeding down the highway in my car, headed south, I think for Mexico. LB wasn’t with me. I stop somewhere in Arizona, and I get a call from Rooferman. He says he can’t watch LB and he need to drop her off with me. I tell him I can’t, I’m in Arizona. He says, that’s ok, I’ll be there in an hour. I wait in a Truck-Stop parking lot, and about Midnight he rolls up. His truck is crammed full of people. Loud music is blasting. He opens the door and smoke starts pouring out. He hands LB to me, and she’s covered in filth.

I look at Rooferman, and his eyes are dilated. His hair is greasy, and his skin is smudged with dirt. He looks like he’s high on Meth. He hands me a piece of paper, saying “Here. Get this prescription filled for LB.”

LB doesn’t cry. Instead she is completely silent. She looks at me with big, scared eyes.  Rooferman turns and runs back to his truck. I say “Wait! I need the car seat!” He pushes people aside in his truck and pulls out a broken car seat, the seat belt dangling to the ground. “Here,” he says.

Then he gets back into his truck, peels out and drives off into the night. I am left standing with a broken car seat and a sick child in the middle of the Arizona desert.

A crying LB climbed into my bed at this point in the dream. She laid down next to me and started coughing. I rubbed her back until she fell asleep. Poor kid.

I wonder if Married moms have dreams like this?


*Note: my apologies up front for this long, raw, post. I had to get it out. You may hate me after reading this.

When Rooferman and I first got together, I gave him a dog. My gay friend’s hairdresser told me about a pit bull that a single mom was being forced to get rid of. She was going through a horrible divorce, had 2 kids and was working 2 jobs. She didn’t have time to take care of him, but she loved him so much she didn’t want to just send him to the pound.

Rooferman had mentioned that he wanted a pit bull if he ever got another dog, so I told my gay friend I we should take a trip down to New Mexico and check out the dog.

It was the middle of winter. We walked up to a shoddy-looking trailer, where an exhausted 20-something woman invited us in. Two kids were hanging off what looked like a miniature white horse. The dog stood about thigh-high, and had the biggest head I had ever seen. His jowls drooped in pink curtains, and he had chestnut patches splotched over his white skin. His eyes were calm and kind, as if he didn’t even feel the little rug-rats tugging on his ears.

The single mom bent down and hugged her dog when we said we would take him. As she stood up, we could see tears in her eyes. She loved this dog. We assured her we would take good care of him. He immediately refused to sit in the backseat of my car. Instead, he situated all 80 lbs on my lap, and farted the entire way home.

Rooferman was delighted when I presented him with this monster of a dog. Being good Stoners, we decided to name him “Dooby”, though most of the time we just called him “Doob” or the “Doobster.” He was a tank. The most lovable, happy, mellow tank in the world.

Of course, a lot of things happened between the day I brought Dooby home, and what eventually led up to the following events. We moved 4 times in the next 6 months. We got engaged.  I quit my job. We lived out of our car. We moved to New Orleans. We got pregnant. My gay friend got arrested. We moved into Rooferman’s parent’s house. He got another pit bull. We moved into a spider-infested cabin where LB eventually joined us.

I don’t really want to go into the depths of the misery I was living in after I had LB. My student loans had defaulted. Collection agencies were calling me. I was living off WIC and my daughter was living off my breast milk. Our propane was shut off. I never saw any money after I became solely dependent on Rooferman.

Then Dooby got hurt. One day he started limping, and eventually it got to the point where he was snapping at people, getting into fights with other dogs. It was obvious he was in awful pain, and it was causing him to react violently. We knew it had to be his ACL.

Our dog needed surgery, and I was completely helpless. I had spent every penny of my own money. I had no car. I had no job. I had an infant on Medicaid. I didn’t know what to do.

At this point, Rooferman had started to show his true colors. He was angry most of the time, and the stresses of our life had sent him into chronic physical and emotional shut-down. He would spend hours locked in our room, alternated with hours in the bathroom. Sometimes he just wouldn’t come home at all. He consumed copious amounts of weed to kill the pain. I don’t think he could bear to see the condition of our little family.

After Dooby had bit our neighbor’s dog and drew enough blood to require stitches, Rooferman said these fateful words to me:

“Take him to the pound, or I’m shooting him.”

I retaliated. How could he ask me to do this? I screamed and cried, refusing to take him to the pound where they would most certainly euthanize him. He was a 80-pound pit bull with a torn ACL, what good Samaritan was going to adopt that? While Rooferman was at work, I frantically called vets, asking for payment plans on surgeries. I dreaded the sound of a diesel engine, which meant Rooferman had returned home.

Maybe I was still in love with him at that point. Maybe I really didn’t think he would do it. Maybe I wanted to see what type of man I really was living with. Maybe I was in basic survival mode, and couldn’t think of anything other than making sure my baby was ok. Or maybe I should have blocked the door as Rooferman led Dooby outside. Maybe I was just a coward.

I never saw our dog again.

I feel sick as I’m typing this story. I feel disgust, regret, anger, guilt, pain and grief when I think about what happened to Dooby. I think about the single mom who hugged him the day he became part of our family. I think about the long, lonely days taking care of LB, with only my dog to keep me company. I think of choice Rooferman presented me that day, and how it killed just a little bit more of my faith in him.

I’ve tried to forget a lot of what happened during my relationship with LB’s dad, but sometimes it all comes crashing back. I probably wouldn’t have written this at all, except last night I had a dream about Dooby.

 I dreamed I saw a white dog laying on the side of the road. I stopped the car I was driving and got out. The dog was beaten, bruised, bloody, barely alive. I called Animal Control. I saw that Rooferman’s name was on his name tag. Animal Control arrived and I said I wanted to make a report against Rooferman for cruelty to animals. The guy from Animal Control looked at my dog and shook his head. “He doesn’t look that bad,” he said. He picked Dooby up and threw him in the back of his truck. Then he drove off, and I ran after him, screaming and crying for him to bring my dog back.

I don’t know why I had this dream, or what it means, but I’ve been upset all day about it. I guess that’s why I’m blogging, because I can’t get it off my mind. I don’t know if its because I’m on this Deja Vu/Memory research kick, but ironically, I’m reading this parenting book about dealing with your unresolved issues before you pass them on to your kids. Maybe my brain is telling me I’m obviously not over this.

I don’t know what to say to you, Dooby. I’m sorry I let this happen to you. I wish your life wasn’t cut short the way it was. I miss you, and I loved you very much. I hope you are in a better place.


Something is in the air this week. My co-worker’s grandmother-in-law died on Tuesday night. My other co-worker’s pastor’s house burned down yesterday. My boss got a call from one of the preschool teachers, threatening  to walk out of her classroom due to a little girl screaming and locking herself in the bathroom for over an hour. There’s been an outbreak of Pertussis at two different schools.

My office also received 2 expulsion notices in the last 24 hours. Apparently 2 more are coming in today. 4 kids expelled in a week? That may be peanuts to a big city district, but to a po-dunk town in Colorado, that’s ridiculous. We’ve only had 5 expulsions total this year.

As for me? I’m having intense bouts of déjà vu. I used to only get the feeling once every 6 months or so, but now its starting to happen at least once a month. I’ve had two episodes in this week alone. Once while I was reading a blog! Its probably all in my head, and I’m sure everyone gets déjà vu pretty frequently, but sometimes it totally freaks me out.

Sometimes I will stop talking in the middle of a sentence and ask someone “Did I already tell you this?” Maybe I just have isolated brain damage from my drug-infusedless virtuous years. Yeah, that’s probably it. Déjà vu is just the holes in my brain matter.

So I started doing some research on Déjà vu (which of course begins with wikipedia) and found that some scientists think that its linked to “improper electrical discharge” in the brain. Which makes a lot of sense, because I usually experience a minor jerking spasm right before falling asleep ( a common side-effect).

The hippie/astrology-obessessed/tarot-card-reading side of me thinks that maybe I’m trying to decode some message the universe is showing me, or that I’m remembering dreams. This is why I try to keep a dream journal.

Mostly I think it has to do with memory, and how our memories are stored. Maybe we think we forget certain things, but really its still stored somewhere in our brain until an experience suddenly triggers that “forgotten” memory. Maybe its a combination of dreams, signs, memory and brain damage.

Maybe I’m just mental.

What do you think? Do you have Déjà vu frequently? Do you think its some kind of hippie-ju-ju or more scientific?

Uranus & Saturn are controlling my dreams

Last night I had a dream about my Court date.

 I dreamed I was in something that resembled a high school auditorium with hundreds of other rowdy, yelling 20-something-year-olds. I was confused. I had all my papers and files and was dressed formally, ready to present my case, but it was obvious this wasn’t a court room. I looked at my peers and even though they were 25-26ish, they were acting like we were back in 1998.

Guys were wearing baggy JNCO jeans, bar-bell necklaces, leopard-print dyed hair, earings. Girls were wearing candy necklaces and pigtails, halter-tops and belly chains. Basically I was at a 1998 rave, except we had aged 10 years.

Then I realized my court date was really a high school debate. All of my 26-year-old rave kid peers were expecting me to put on a show for them: a show they couldn’t care less about. They were making out with each other in their seats, throwing glow-sticks, smoking weed, taking shots off Tequila.

Basically I was reliving my high school experience, where people thought I was the nerdy, brown-nosing, teacher’s pet, getting ready to present my assignment to a class who couldn’t give a rat’s ass.

All of a sudden, on the opposite side of the auditorium, a man entered with an entourage of people. He was wearing prison stripes, and was escorted by 4 armed guards. The entire audience went wild. They cheered and screamed, clapping their hands as if the Backstreet Boys had just walked through that door. The man, of course, was Rooferman.

He walked up to the stage, smiling and waving to people. He was wearing handcuffs, but he didn’t seem to mind. He stood up there grinning like a rock star. Then everyone turned to look at me. I was standing at the back of the auditorium, wondering what the hell was going on. There was no judge, there was no court clerk. I looked like an accountant who had accidentally walked into a Powerman 2000 Concert.

Then it hit me. My fate was to be decided by the audience of my adolecent peers. I had to get up on that stage, dressed like Nancy Drew and try to win over the Ecstasy-rolling, sketcher-wearing, nose-pierced 20-somethings, who obviously favored Rooferman.

I started walking down the aisle, and immediately I was bombarded with insults. My peers were yelling obscenities, calling me a stinking queer, telling me to go home, throwing s*** at me. Rooferman stood up on the stage and laughed, goading them on. He was like a celebrity.

I was about to step up on stage, when the lights flicked on. The Principal, who looked an awful lot like the Judge who is assigned to my case, entered and told everyone that the debate would have to be cancelled and rescheduled for another time. He told the armed guards to take Rooferman back to jail. They drug him off the stage.

I asked the Judge/Principal when I was supposed to come back. He said he didn’t know, I should just keep “checking the dockets” to see if my name was on there. Then he left, and the entire audience vanished.

What happens next is kind of blurry, and I don’t really remember how it all went down. All I can tell is I kept returning to check the dockets, almost obsessively, for the rest of the day. I kept running back and forth between my house, where LB was, and the high school/court. Finally I got so exhausted from running back and forth, I fell asleep under the dockets. When I woke up, I realized I had been asleep for 3 hours and LB had been home alone the entire time.

I ran all the way home (except my home was my office) and my mom was there, holding LB. For some reason there was a table set up with streamers, hats and party plates. There were presents everywhere. My mom looked at me and it was obvious I had left LB alone during her birthday party. People had shown up and left, and LB had been traumatized in the process.

I took LB and raced back to the courthouse, where consquently I had missed my court date.

Right now Uranus is getting into position where it opposes Saturn. In Greek mythology, Saturn and Uranus were old rivals whose power struggle eventually led to the castration and banishment of one, and the rise of the other. This opposition ironically falls on election day, but starts its journey on my court date.

Want to interpret my dream? 🙂

The child’s best interest

I fell into bed last night at 9:30 pm. I still slept through my alarm this morning. I don’t know how much sleep is going to satisfy me. I had 9 hours and 15 minutes of sleep last night. Why am I still tired?

Still having crazy dreams. Saturday night I dreamed Michael Jackson was married and had been hiding his wife in the basement like that sicko in Austria. I had other dreams involving my friends Curmudge and Jiji, but I can’t even begin to make sense of them. My brain is exhausted. The moon looked full last night, maybe it was effecting my unconscious.

Still no word from Rooferman. Its been 7 weeks since he’s seen LB. No dreams about him this weekend, thankfully. Apparently his presence has made his way to Boulder to infect my friend’s dreams. Sorry Elly.

There was minor chaos at daycare this morning. A little boy who has been in the same class as LB since he was 18 month and she was 12 months didn’t want to say goodbye to daddy. He is the youngest in a family of 7 girls. He LOVES his dad. Since he was a baby he has cried miserably every time his dad drops him off.

My own daughter barely mentions her dad. She sometimes says “Daddy gone” or “Daddy not here.” Occasionally its been “Daddy’s truck broken.” Other than that, she doesn’t cry for him, ask me when he’s coming, or even acknowledge the fact he exists 90% of the time.

 I can’t decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

I want my daughter to have a dad. I want her to have his support and his love, and to reciprocate these feelings. I want her to have as normal a life as she possibly can. I want her to bond with him. I want them to value each other’s presence.


I don’t want her to feel pain because of her dad. I don’t want him to disappoint her. I don’t want him to abandon her, or chose other things over her. I don’t want her to feel like she is somewhere on his priority list under his job and his new family. I don’t want her to be emotionally and mentally damaged by her father, and I think its natural for a mom to want to protect her child from that.

The courts want you to have the “child’s best interest” in mind. How can a relationship where a daughter’s trust in her dad is constantly being shattered, be considered in her best interest? How can regression in emotional (separation anxiety), mental (sleep disturbances), and physical (potty rejection) development be considered in her best interest?

I know I have to look at the bigger picture. If I bring up potty training issues, a judge will most likely look me in the eye and say “She’ll survive.” I have to remember that one day she will be a semi-self-sufficient school aged kid who is capable of making her own decisions. Its hard to keep that in mind when I’ve been making all the decisions for her. She’s only 2, she’s still dependent on me. Her best interest has been my sole responsibility, and I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job of it. Its especially hard to keep the big picture in mind when I’ve had to compensate for her dad when he doesn’t keep his promises.

I’m trying really hard not to become that bitter single mom who shoots herself in the foot in front of a judge. Cause I’m not that mom. I’m only 26. I’m too young to be jaded, broken and hating the world.  I’m a good mom who wants the best for her daughter, who will support and encourage a text-book “loving, meaningful relationship” between her daughter and her ex. At least I will try.

This must be my mantra. This will lead me to the promised land.


Astrology, Dreams, Birth Control and Potty Training

Someone googled “Best time to potty train by the zodiac” and found my blog. Flogging hilarious.

Ironic, because last night for some reason, I asked LB “Do you want to wear a diaper or undies to bed tonight?” To which she responded, “Diaper or undies? UNDIES!”

Dum da dum dum. Why did I ask? I’m not ready to give up sleeping again. My child has been an absolute dream at bedtime lately. No getting up. No resisting pajamas. No physically removing her from her play kitchen. She has been as sweet as pie, snuggling in to bed while I read Curious George and Stand Tall, Molly Lou Mellon (a totally amazing book from Grandma Ruby, I might add). I now hear “I love you mama” every night, and for the most part, bedtime has been a pleasant experience lately.

So why would I want to ruin it by putting my daughter in undies at night? Because she said she wanted to, and I figure I should start teaching my kid that if she wants to make a choice, I will take her seriously and let her deal with the consequences (except I’M the one who will be cleaning up pee at 2 am).

I’m not doing this without reason though. I have been noticing that some mornings she wakes up with a dry diaper, and I figure if I don’t give her a gallon of water right before bed, she might be able to make it all night.

Even so, I was paranoid about setting LB up for a traumatic experience which would revert her back to anti-bedtime rituals, so I inwardly kicked myself. I reminded her that she was in underwear and not a diaper and she needed to use the potty at night just like she does during the day (well, 95% of the time at least). I told her to call me if she had to go pee and I would take her to the potty.

I left the door open and went downstairs to watch my Netflix. After the movie was over I took my shower, and went in to check LB. She was sleeping like a rock, but mean mommyI figured I should wake her up and make her go potty, in order to reduce the chance of a pre-dawn wet blanket party. BAD IDEA. I must have ripped my daughter from a particularly warm and fuzzy dream, because she went to to the darkside in 10 seconds flat as I tried to place her booty on the princess potty.

Okayyyyy. I put her back to bed. Looked at the clock: 11:50 pm. Went to bed. Throughout the night I must have checked on her 10 times, whispering “Do you need to go potty?” and then creeping back to bed. Finally  at 5 am, I heard a groan. I ran into her bedroom and asked the question again. She sat up and said “Yes.”

Jigga what? She got up and went pee all by herself. Then she looked at me and said “I want to watcha movie.” Um, the sun’s not even up, honey. Tried to lay her back down, but failed. So I thought, “Screw it! She went all night without an accident. She can sleep the last hour and a half in my bed.”

I’m totally exhausted. At some point in the night, I woke up while having a dream about driving through Cool World in a bumper car. On the way to LB’s room, I kept telling myself I should write it down so I could blog about it in the morning, but alas, I cannot recall anything further than bright lights and Techno playing in the background. Maybe I was driving through Sin City. I can’t remember.

So if Astrology has anything to do with LB’s miraculous first night in undies, I would say, potty train your kid while Mercury is in Retrograde. Prepare for the worst, but expect surprises.

 Another irritating piece of Mercury Retrograde: Mail gets flogged up. Yesterday I discovered my mail-order prescription had arrived. Unfortunately my prescription has to be refrigerated, and the cold packs had completely melted around it. My box of Nuvarings was lukewarm when I unpacked it.

Good thing I never have sex anyway.