Canine update & other oddities.
Apr. 2nd, 2007 09:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redfirecrackerSo, for those who are interested, Yueng does indeed have a low-functioning thyroid. Happily, it's something that's easily medicated, and the vet thinks that after a month or so, we'll see some distinct improvement in her symptoms.
In unrelated matters, I had really weird dreams this weekend. I'm usually pretty good at interpreting dreams, but this one has me stumped.
I dreamed I was at a party at a big old house that seemed familiar, like something out of memory or experience. Even the party felt like something familiar, like something the me in the dream and the people I was with did regularly, but there was a feeling about it that I associate with the frat parties of my undergrad days -- you know, back when when we all thought that getting wrecked and doing stupid things meant we were having a great time?
In the dream, I was at that perfect level of intoxication, buzzed and feeling good but still reasonably lucid and coordinated, with that sense of expansive goodwill you get sometimes when you've been drinking. Some of the girls were discussing makeup colors and tips, and someone else suggesting breaking out the cosmetics. Someone else suggested making up the boys, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I don't know how *I* ended up making up Julie's boyfriend.
He had long fair hair that I smoothed back from his perfectly oval face a few times before finally finding a headband to keep it back. He should have looked silly with a pink-and-green polka-dotted scarf tied around his head, but it suited him somehow. I could already feel that this was not going to be a good thing, and I wished I was either more drunk or more sober to deal with it.
I made a comment that he had excellent skin and didn't need foundation, but that I was going to use powder and blush before I did his eyes. I think everyone bought that as a reason why I'd been staring into his face. I didn't take another drink because I wanted my hands steady for this: he deserved the best job I could do and I didn't want to mess it up. When I reached for the small brushes, though, they were caked with bright blue and bright green eyeshadow, and I couldn't find any others.
"Julie!" I yelled, irritated. "Don't you have any *clean* brushes?"
She didn't answer. Kristin, who had been handing me colors, got up to go and find her.
I looked down at the makeup tray in my lap, and the colors were all wrong for a boy with fair hair and fair skin, blue eyes and dark brows. Disgusted, I threw it aside and rummaged through my purse, finally coming up with colors that weren't perfect, but would work. Chocolate kohl outlining his eyes instead of the navy or grey that I'd wanted, shimmering shadow the shade of seashells dusted from lids to brows, blusher like a ripe peach across the apples of his cheeks. Lipstick, I knew I had the right lipstick, if I could just find it, that would make everything perfect!
Did we get to our feet because everyone else did, or was there another reason? The other boys looked silly, but he looked . . . ethereal, beautiful, like something otherworldly with his long pale hair falling around his face, and when I reached for him, I knew it was wrong, wrong, so unbelievably wrong, but I did it anyway, and when I kissed him I would never have stopped.
Except my cell phone was ringing. Why was my Aunt Jinny calling to tell me, "Check your eleven o'clock"?
Even before I opened my eyes, I knew what I would see, and the sight of Julie's back as she shoved through the crowd filled me with guilt.
There's a vague sense of trying to follow her, another, even fainter sense of the boy, following at my heels and Kristin keeping close by, but I was starting to wake up and lost the thread.
So . . . weird.
Keep in mind that the only Julie I've ever known was from second-year undergrad. She lived in the dorm room next door and was one of those girls who had a different boyfriend every night. Come to think of it, she really *did* wear outrageously bright blue and green eyeshadow. Holy late eighties, Batman!
Kristin is one of my closest friends and has been since we were sixteen. My Aunt Jinny really is my Aunt Jinny, but she would not have used phrasing like that in my dream.
I know that current dream psychology emphasizes the emotions and feelings associated with the dream, rather than the images, but I'm not getting the point, here. What the hell is my subconscious trying to tell me?
God, this Oracle-of-Delphi imagery crap is for the fucking birds.
In unrelated matters, I had really weird dreams this weekend. I'm usually pretty good at interpreting dreams, but this one has me stumped.
I dreamed I was at a party at a big old house that seemed familiar, like something out of memory or experience. Even the party felt like something familiar, like something the me in the dream and the people I was with did regularly, but there was a feeling about it that I associate with the frat parties of my undergrad days -- you know, back when when we all thought that getting wrecked and doing stupid things meant we were having a great time?
In the dream, I was at that perfect level of intoxication, buzzed and feeling good but still reasonably lucid and coordinated, with that sense of expansive goodwill you get sometimes when you've been drinking. Some of the girls were discussing makeup colors and tips, and someone else suggesting breaking out the cosmetics. Someone else suggested making up the boys, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I don't know how *I* ended up making up Julie's boyfriend.
He had long fair hair that I smoothed back from his perfectly oval face a few times before finally finding a headband to keep it back. He should have looked silly with a pink-and-green polka-dotted scarf tied around his head, but it suited him somehow. I could already feel that this was not going to be a good thing, and I wished I was either more drunk or more sober to deal with it.
I made a comment that he had excellent skin and didn't need foundation, but that I was going to use powder and blush before I did his eyes. I think everyone bought that as a reason why I'd been staring into his face. I didn't take another drink because I wanted my hands steady for this: he deserved the best job I could do and I didn't want to mess it up. When I reached for the small brushes, though, they were caked with bright blue and bright green eyeshadow, and I couldn't find any others.
"Julie!" I yelled, irritated. "Don't you have any *clean* brushes?"
She didn't answer. Kristin, who had been handing me colors, got up to go and find her.
I looked down at the makeup tray in my lap, and the colors were all wrong for a boy with fair hair and fair skin, blue eyes and dark brows. Disgusted, I threw it aside and rummaged through my purse, finally coming up with colors that weren't perfect, but would work. Chocolate kohl outlining his eyes instead of the navy or grey that I'd wanted, shimmering shadow the shade of seashells dusted from lids to brows, blusher like a ripe peach across the apples of his cheeks. Lipstick, I knew I had the right lipstick, if I could just find it, that would make everything perfect!
Did we get to our feet because everyone else did, or was there another reason? The other boys looked silly, but he looked . . . ethereal, beautiful, like something otherworldly with his long pale hair falling around his face, and when I reached for him, I knew it was wrong, wrong, so unbelievably wrong, but I did it anyway, and when I kissed him I would never have stopped.
Except my cell phone was ringing. Why was my Aunt Jinny calling to tell me, "Check your eleven o'clock"?
Even before I opened my eyes, I knew what I would see, and the sight of Julie's back as she shoved through the crowd filled me with guilt.
There's a vague sense of trying to follow her, another, even fainter sense of the boy, following at my heels and Kristin keeping close by, but I was starting to wake up and lost the thread.
So . . . weird.
Keep in mind that the only Julie I've ever known was from second-year undergrad. She lived in the dorm room next door and was one of those girls who had a different boyfriend every night. Come to think of it, she really *did* wear outrageously bright blue and green eyeshadow. Holy late eighties, Batman!
Kristin is one of my closest friends and has been since we were sixteen. My Aunt Jinny really is my Aunt Jinny, but she would not have used phrasing like that in my dream.
I know that current dream psychology emphasizes the emotions and feelings associated with the dream, rather than the images, but I'm not getting the point, here. What the hell is my subconscious trying to tell me?
God, this Oracle-of-Delphi imagery crap is for the fucking birds.
