Salad, Hair Ties and Black Trash Bags

I was standing at the tiny counter in the kitchen of the last house my family and I lived in together.  There was plenty of counter space in that kitchen, but there was this floor cabinet that held our eating utensils and it had a small counter on top.

I was making a salad after having cleaning some lettuce. I’d put it into a salad spinner to store in the fridge and then as I pulled lettuce out of it for myself, the spinner turned into a large black plastic trash bag.

Kim Kardashian walked by and the lettuce turned into button down long sleeve dress shirts with crazy designs.

I seem to remember some confusion and frustration but the confusion wasn’t as strong as the frustration pertaining to how the shirts just kept coming and coming.

After this, as I still stood at the counter, still trying to make a salad, taking longer than it should, my sister stood across from me and we were talking. The wind started blowing hard then, through the kitchen window. It was to my right, above the stove. My hair blew all over the place, making it difficult to keep it out of my face.

My sister asked, “Do you have a hair tie?”

I said, “I do, but I don’t know exactly where they are.” And I began rummaging through something on our small table in the kitchen…with no luck in finding a hair tie.

I didn’t want to go downstairs to my bedroom (I had a custom built bedroom in the basement of this house for a while) because I didn’t want my sister to get distracted and not come back to our convo.

I went around into the living room (sister in tow) and looked in a desk that was right there on the wall opposite the kitchen. (IRL, the desk wasn’t really there but on another wall in the living room.)

My sister and I were still talking about hair ties and finding one.But she also asked me something about a salad…I think she asked if there was more lettuce and I took it to mean she wanted a salad. So I went back to the kitchen and reached in the back to check for the spinner.

Then I went downstairs to look for a hair tie, while she took a look in her room down the hall.

In my room, I looked inside a wooden box on top of my dresser. (A tall chest of drawers and the box was a handmade wood box I use for jewelry.) I had to dig to the bottom of the right, back corner before I found one.

My sister appeared at my door-way while I was pushing through all the clutter inside the box and asked if I’d found one.

I pulled out two. One yellow and one black. I chose the yellow one and started putting my hair up in a pony tail. But then, what was supposed to be the hair tie became a red powder that I smeared onto a pane of glass that was upright and leaning against on wall.

After this weirdness I turned to look at the room. I was a guest and was going to sleep in this room. I walked through and mentioned that I needed to find my futon and it was then I realized how late it was and how disorganized I was. And that I had no idea where any of the sleeping material was.  I was also feeling tired and finding something to sleep on felt urgent but I didn’t show it.

By this time, my brother was down there with us too. After I’d talked about sleeping in that room and finding my futon, I turned to see a huge pile of big black trash bags that I knew were full of my brother’s stuff.

I said, “I’m sleeping in here.”

My sister left the basement, going back upstairs and it was just my brother and me.

It’s not clear what he replied but the way he replied was calm. He said something along the lines of needing to put his stuff in there but it’s not necessary for him to sleep in there.

He made a funny but martyr-like comment in a very calm and non-confronting, non-aggressive tone with a really gentle look on his face.

We knew we weren’t the only guests in the house and space was limited. (Remember the Kim K. kitchen walk through?)

I said to my brother, “I don’t mind sleeping in the same room with you. We can just put our beds far away from each other.” (Something along those lines. My exact wording isn’t clear to me now.)

In this dream, I was aware of the tension but my two siblings didn’t seem to be. I didn’t feel afraid of them or nervous. I didn’t even feel fake or like I was forcing myself to be ‘nice.’ Being in each other’s flowed and the interaction came naturally, like it used to. There was no elephant in the room and we were just ‘normal’ siblings.

I also had this strange sense that what happened between us then (whatever was going on in the dream) had the power to dictate how we behaved toward each other in the future.

 

 

Common Dream Theme + Privacy Problems with My Father

 

I have a lot of dreams that involve going into a bathroom then not having any privacy. Either a bunch of toilets are in one big area/room or there are no doors on the stalls.

In one recent dream, just as I went into a stall, the door changed into a shower curtain and the upper part of the stall became the rod for the shower curtain, while the metal walls that made up the stall, disappeared.

In these dreams there’s always a line of people at the door and they are streaming in, or there are groups of people inside the bathroom itself. Or if there weren’t a bunch of people inside the bathroom already, as soon as I go to use a toilet, they suddenly appear, taking away any privacy I had.

I see the lack of privacy. But I’m updating this on 10/27/16
It was originally written on 9/30/15.

I spoke to a therapist about this recurring theme and he mentioned that it pertains to the potty training period in childhood. But how that fits I have not been able to figure that out. And the therapist didn’t elaborate leaving me to think he wasn’t clear either. I think he needed to know more about me before being able to interpret this running theme in dreams for me.

But in looking it up and not really feeling satisfied with what I found, the thought of feeling vulnerable and exposed came to mind.  These dreams started long before I started blogging though, so even if it does pertain to a feeling of vulnerability and exposure by blogging, it’s more than just that.

I would have to remember what was going on in my waking life first I guess, before figuring out what I felt vulnerable about when having this sort of dream.

There could also be more to it, but I’m not coming up with anything at the moment. However, this did bring up some lack of privacy issues I had in my family home with my father.  See below:

Knock before entering

As a teen, my father would just open my bedroom door without knocking. The older I got the more frustrated I got about this.

When he’d barge in, I’d ask him to stop and to please knock from now on.

More than once he responded with, “It’s my house, I can walk into any room I want.”

Other times when my timing was right and I would catch him at a time he was thinking more reasonably, he’d agree. But when the opportunity presented itself he’d knock, not wait for a response and just open the door.

When that happened I asked again and specified that he also wait for an answer. Just writing about this now feels crazy making. It helps me see what an entitled POS this man could be. I felt tormented when it came to the things he felt the need to control. I mean who needs to explain to a grown ass man that when you want him to knock that he should also wait for a fucking response to be sure it’s OK to enter.

God forbid he allow his teen age daughter some privacy. That would mean relinquishing some control. I get so angry at him even now for that teenage girl.

Trapped was how I felt in that household. I could never put a word to it before. And it explains a lot of why my relationships failed on my side.  The feeling of being trapped results in wanting to escape and this manifested in pushing people away. But with my father it resulted in me continually trying to get his permission and approval. And to get him to hear and understand me.

The door to the bedroom I had in my adolescence (we lived in a few different houses) had a lock on it but I wasn’t allowed to lock it. When I did lock it and he tried to walk in, he’d bellow from the other side, “OPEN THIS DOOR.”

When I did he’d seethe, “Don’t ever lock this door again.”

Periodically I’d lock it anyway.

When I asked “Why not?” He replied, “Because it’s the type of lock that if anything happened to you on the other side of the door while it was locked, I wouldn’t be able to get to you.”

Even as a teen I knew this was bullshit. And he used that made up reason each time he found it locked when I’d have the guts to rebel, which wasn’t too often because I was afraid of his reaction.

It was one of those little button locks that sat underneath and to the right of the door knob. These can’t be unlocked from the outside and there is no key. However, the door was a hollow core door. My father, who was more than 6 feet tall, in his early 40s and of average build, would have had no problem whatsoever breaking down that door, if it was ever even necessary.

The man had serious boundary issues along with those control issues.