So, a somewhat vivid dream from this morning (feels like last night, while it was dark, but I realize it is more likely that it is from this morning).

I was at Tyra Banks’s house (yes) and I saw Tyra Banks (no I did..).  A friend of hers was there, too, and we were all in a dressing room together.  I was wearing light brown leather boots, a grey-ish tweed skirt, a jacket, and then a white knitted hat.  My hair was the way it is now, short and curly with golden streaks, and the hat brought my hair to frame my face.  Anyway, I think I was over there because — I have no idea.  Ms. Banks in my dream was not very beautiful, as far as her eyes went, but she was still a very cool lady.  She left, and then her friend, a gay male friend of dark complexion, asked me whether I thought I could catalogue model (uh huh.. you can laugh) the hat.  I said yes, and he went on to point out the things that I was doing with my body and my dress to show me why I was wrong in my assessment.  I was still kind of giddy.  It was really cool.

This next part, which is the more exciting part, I don’t know if this was before the modelling part of not, but here it is:

I was going through small alleys — the closest to which that I have seen are the alleys in Hallstatt, which is a very old town in Austria — with my parents.  We were all dressed up, and there were tables lined up along the alleys, with patrons eating.  The houses / walls between which the space ran were not tall, so they were not dark alleys — it was more like sectionalized open spaces.  It turned out to be an Italian restaurant.  Food was being cooked outside, right next to the patrons.  We were seated at a table near the cooking fire, which was contained in an oil drum.  We were encouraged to cook our own food.  Available ingredients for the main dish of the evening were: some sort of white meat (turkey or pork? not chicken), red and green bell peppers, asparagus, goat cheese, balsamic vinegar, pepper, etc.  We brought them over, and cooked all the ingredients together.  The meat was browned nicely.  One dish was done, but the slab of meat was so large that I could complete a second portion with just a little more vegetables.  My mother thought I should throw the meat away, but my father and I thought we could definitely eat it, and then mother agreed as well.  So, the second portion was cooked.  It was delicious.  It was all very pleasant and happy.  I cooked the two portions for my family with a longish stick, etc. (I know, doesn’t make sense, but what do you expect — it’s a dream.)  I saw the goat cheese crumble, and the whole dish turning into delicious brown.  I don’t remember us sitting down to eat, so I might have continued to cook a third portion.  Who knows.

Then, somehow, I was confined in my parents’ house.  My dad, especially, wanted to make sure that I wasn’t leaving the house and kept a close eye on me.  I of course ran out.  It was a house on the hill, with lots of bay windows and green window shutters.  I came through the back and out, and my dad asked why I was running.  I might have said something like “you know why”.  He was being his bull-like self that he turns into when he is angry, which makes him seem crazy to me and makes me run away from him even more.  I was scared but then, I wasn’t really, because I did not really respect his anger (? I am not sure what this really means. If you knew me better, maybe I could tell you or you would understand — but my mother would understand the best).  This is kind of odd because in this dream, the only person whose anger I really saw was my dad, and he is usually not the one to chastise me, really.  Anyhow, I ran away and away down the hill into town, and burst into a restaurant.  I don’t know who was chasing me — there were servant-like people in my house who were keeping a watch, and it may have been a couple of men among them who chased me down the hill and into the town.  The restaurant I burst into was like a 삼겹살집 — a kind of barbecue house you see a lot of in Korea.  There were many men, who all said they would call the police and make sure that I would not be hurt or taken away by whoever was coming after me.  When my chasers came inside the place, however, the men in the restaurant suddenly changed their attitude.  They weren’t actively turning me over, but they certainly weren’t fighting to get my chasers out of the place or anything.  I called the police, but I was nervous and kept dialling 122 instead of 211.  I saw what I was doing, eventually, and dialed the right number, and I think it was ok after that.

This next part was with the gay man from Tyra Banks’s place.  We were dressed quite nice for the “night out”, and we headed to the hip part of the town that I had no idea about.  There was supposed to be a performance somewhere, and we walked into this gallery/costume-store which had a small performance space and seats that looked down to the stage area from slightly above.  There were people, but we decided that it was going to be quite boring after we came inside and were about to sit down.  It was all quite lighthearted and fun, and also somewhat adult in that even though I was enjoying the new experiences, I wasn’t wide-eyed with excitement, heart palpitations and all.  When I was younger I would get those types of rushes all the time, any time I was doing something exciting, or new, or happy, or saw or heard or smelled anything like that.  I responded like crazy.  Now I don’t, and that is good, too.

Anyway, my dream.  Why did I write all of that down?  I don’t know.  Sometimes my dreams work out the things that I want but deny myself, and those dreams usually make me feel much, much better.  I don’t know what kind of dream this was.  About a month ago it was a dream of me on my first night at work at a brothel managed by a friend of mine.  I wrote a detailed account of that in an email I sent to myself.  I think I know where that dream came from (from a pretty mundane source i.e. TV show I watched, combined with my desperation for a job and financial gains) — that one was quite obvious, like the one featuring an old cello teacher of mine and my mom agreeing to let me go far away again to study, or something.  I really wish I had written that one down, because that one really felt significant.  I remember her changing her mind over some crucial detail, or was it I? about my re-pursuit of music.  This one, though, not quite sure.  I don’t think it was all too trivial — I think the dressing up with Tyra Banks part was just something about my desire to look nice and fit, attention to my outward appearances and related health issues, and the cooking for and with family part something of my perception of the current dynamics in my family and my role in my family / relationship with my family, and the running away from home part is, well, obviously, me trying / wanting to run away from home, family, figuratively.  Men not helping was just to add some more drama maybe.  The last part I have no idea what it is.  Maybe that is just me being somewhat carefree and getting to taste some new (exciting) experiences that I would get as an adult, away from home, away from family, as my own person, whatever.

I am hungry now, and in the mood for pork chops. Mmm. I elaborated the paragraph above after writing this previous sentence [“I am hungry now, …”], and came back, and toward the end of the last paragraph, which I just wrote, I tasted coffee truffles in my mouth, and now I want them. Mmmm. Creamy. Coffee. Chocolate.

I feel like a nice lunch today.  Or, I could work out before that.  Or, I could read about feminist approaches to international law and attend the makeup class.  I should probably show my face to the makeup class, even though it is unlikely that I will either do the readings over the next two hours or participate in the discussion even without reading anything.  I feel dumber and dumber in that class — well, not really, but I just find it hard to engage myself in that class.  I wish I could.  It was far more exciting in my intensive course lectures in int’l law with Prof. Koskenniemi.  But he is just amazing, and that course had a very clear thesis.  This one is more like a survey, and somehow it just fails to captivate us in any way.  I could probably read these things on my own, and have more interesting discussions with my friends or intelligent people on twitter.  I am not even kidding.

I’ve been listening to Bruckner symphonies lately, and since yesterday evening I have a craving for the 4th symphony, the one that I played in this beautiful church in Austria.  The conversation I had with my therapist about what music means — and her words about it being an entity into which I let myself loose, a thing of unconditional embrace, makes me miss the warm, grand, earnest, gentle, forgiving, cathartic, orchestral cries.  I’ve been listening to the whole symphony this morning, and the whole thing played once and the 1st movement is playing over again now.

I need to eat.  I have no desire to smoke.  (That is a good thing.  A great thing.  Keep going.)  I believe I am still slightly under the influence of the alcohol from last night.  It was quite a bit of drinking.  It was a bittersweet night.  Oh well. : )  I need to eat.  Ciao, ciao.

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