My instinct is to make the effort. To fight for it. I feel alone in that today.

As I child, I dreamed of flying often. In the dream, I would stand on my bed then zoom down two flights of stairs to the sunken family room, up and out the window and above the nearby subdivision. I loved that feeling, but it never lasted for more than a few seconds.

Shortly after my grandmother passed away, I dreamed of being chased by a dark figure in the woods. I was afraid of the figure because she wanted to hug me, not hurt me, and I knew that I didn't want to go to where she was. I was eight years old.

One entire year of undergrad, I dreamed in cartoons. The people in my life, strangers, trees, frogs - all cartoon illustrations. The themes remained normal, but the execution - brilliant.

Years ago I dreamed of pulling up to an ex's house with him. His friend had parked a large moving truck out front - he was moving into the house. He looked mortified as he approached us. He told us he had hit someone with his other truck. We watched through the windshield of our car as he started taking silver platters out of the back of the moving truck. The platters had body parts on them. It was an elderly black man and I believed he had been homeless. It was understood that the judge had sentenced him to take his victim, in this morbid way, to his home.

The first week I was in my new house, almost two years ago, I dreamed of a dark womb. I saw two yellowish jellyfish figures - amoeba like. There was an echoed voice - it was the older of the fetuses telling the younger, weaker one why he should die. Telling him that he was taking too much of the small resource they shared and because he was the weaker, he should give up and die. I tend to cry each time I think of that dream because I know precisely why I had it and it has absolutely nothing to do with real babies or even pregnancy. I cry, also, because I feel so much sympathy for the weaker, make-believe fetus. (Being pushed around by people who feel entitled to more than you - who don't value kindness and consideration as strength is hard to deal with on a daily basis. They resent you for being "weak" and they want you gone because they don't know how to deal with you. You are not out for yourself the way they are - self-centered and egotistical. It is a character flaw in them, yes, but it can make someone feel incredibly inconsequential and small and worthless.)

I have had an overly-satisfying dream life most of my years. So, it is no wonder that I have been severely frustrated for the past few months in not remembering my dreams. And the ones I do remember have been so lame - me eating a bowl of cereal after I had just eaten a bowl of cereal before bed. Just disappointed night after night.

And then...last night.

I was in a car driving uphill, clockwise in a parking garage- there was a pretty, glowing white sunlight coming from the top of the garage. There were stark white geese, ducks and pigeons everywhere - no other cars in sight. My ex-husband was driving - going a little too fast. I realized that we were going to hit at least one of a group of three birds we were approaching. As we passed over them, I heard a light thud.

It was understood that we had killed the pigeon. I half-heartedly yelled at him to slow down, I felt reservation about this. He became angry quickly (not in a violent way - just agitated) and said something like,"Here we go again..."

Suddenly I feel wonderful, my body submerged in a tube of crystal blue water. It was some sort of water slide that encompassed an enormous Somerset-like mall. It wrapped around like one of those lazy river floats at waterparks - minus the intertube. The mall was open and airy - faux six-story trees and sparrows flying near the glass ceiling. The light was incredible - silvery white blue.

I feel like there were blue-collar or hillybilly types up above me - and perhaps a Sears store. It felt incredible to be in that water. Soon, I came upon a sloping corner and picked up speed - exhilarating! Now, an impossibly overgrown goldfish - larger than a football with vivid orange and gold scales and transparent fins like thin chiffon - is in my path. I feel it hit me hard. I am not hurt, but know that I've killed the goldfish. Below me to my right, I see a large banquet balcony filled with people in formal attire. I feel like there is a fundraiser going on or an ad agency banquet. I feel embarrassed - like I shouldn't be in the fountain, but I know that there are other people in the fountain too. I feel like I don't want to be part of the fountain people - they are ill behaved or something.

There is a middle-aged man in a hospital bed at the bottom of the slide surrounded by bright white screen walls. He is not deathly ill - just recovering from a surgery of some kind. Surgery was the result of something he had done to himself - like too much alcohol or drug use. He is sort of embarrassed, but ready to make a fresh start - hopeful and grateful. He has blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a brown plaid cotton shirt. I don't actually see him - I just "see" him. He is understood.

Now I am in a rectangular apartment - room layout is a perfect grid. I think it is mine and I am having a party. It is austere, futuristic with a silvery blue florescent glow. I am leaning against the sink in normal attire. I enter a narrow back room. It is packed with people I recognize. They are people from work, but at the same time, they are girls from high school that I didn't get along with well. There is a DJ at the end of the room, I think. My clothes have changed and now I am in a light blue chiffon dress (think Blanche-style) and I am making my skirt shimmy like the can can with my hands. I am squealing, "I'm turning! I'm turning!" It is understood that I am reenacting a skit (that doesn't really exist) from Saturday Night Live by the woman who does the "I love it, I love it, I love it!" skit. My friends find it amusing. My eyes are closed now, and I keep twirling toward the back of the narrow room saying it over and over. The further I get away from my close friends and into casual acquaintances, the more uncomfortable I feel. Even though my eyes are closed, I can feel people thinking I'm obnoxious. I am embarrassed. I don't want to keep twirling, but I don't want to stop and open my eyes to see their annoyed faces either.

Now the room has almost emptied and turned into a bedroom for two children. The dream has changed to a movie that I am watching in person - no longer a participant. Same futuristic look and glowing silvery blue light. People are dancing. The children are in their beds sleeping. The room clears out and a woman I believe to be their aunt collapses in an exhilarated state onto the older boy's bed. She extends her arm to touch his in a loving way. The boys stir a bit. They belong to the man in the hospital bed. They are upset. They wish she would be more comforting instead of dancing happily. They want things back to normal. They want their dad home. I think their grandma might have been in the bathroom. I think to myself, "Oh, she can fall asleep here because it's her house" which contradicts my feeling that she was the aunt that came to stay with them until their father is home.

Suddenly there is a voice over. It is Dustin Hoffman. His tone is both warm and exclusive. He says, "As cuddlers, you should now know who the design firm is." I think I see a sleek, red sofa and a distinct black V logo rise in front of me. Dramatic pause, then in an "aren't we clever" way, "R. (or maybe H) Baroman."

I was confused and embarrassed. I didn't understand the answer to the riddle - or that there even was a riddle to solve. How did this relate to my movie? I didn't get it - but according to Dustin's smugness, I should have. Everyone else probably did and they were probably very amused.



I awoke very calmly, but very unsettled. I wrote it all down at three in the morning. I hadn't had a dream like this in months. I felt creepy in my own house for the first time - a little scared. Was Dustin Hoffman the voice of God speaking the answers to life's unanswerable questions in code to the believers? And because I wasn't a believer, I missed out? Do I tend to sum things up with superficiality? Why Dustin Hoffman? That bird scene was beautiful before tragic - and the goldfish too.

Last night was the first night in a long time I didn't read philosophy before bed. I read a delightful, inspiring, hilarious and warm book Erin gave to me instead.

Max, another designer, told me this morning - unaware of my dream - that he had hit a pigeon on his way to work this morning. I felt weird.

Liz, Jen and I all laughed about the Dustin Hoffman voice over while having a cigarette.

Someone brought me a lot of disappointment today. That dream seems very relevant now.