So you know those sex dreams I had last week? Four of them? I asked my therapist about them yesterday. Inevitably, she visibly perked up at the mention of ruderies - prior to that, the session had basically been me revelling in feeling more at peace, so I can't blame her for being grateful for some grit.
"Was the sex itself the focus of the dreams?" she asked, kindly disguising her sobs of gratitude with a little cough. I told her about the one I remembered most clearly: a guy I know had been chasing after another girl for a while, during the dream. She knocked him back and, annoyed and with dented pride, he made it clear that he wanted to sleep with me as a back-up. It was like a contractual exchange: he'd sleep with me, but I had no illusions - I was second best. He didn't really want me, he wanted her. We had sex, but it wasn't any fun on an emotional level because I knew I wasn't his true choice.
"What about the other dreams?" she asked. The next one that came to mind was with a friend of mine, the one who's now married - unlike boy number one, this one seemed to be pleased we were finally sleeping together, but there was a palpable scent of guilt in the air - he kept mentioning his wife and there was a faraway look in his eyes. I was not a priority. And suddenly, the other two dreams dropped into place: one was with an ex-boyfriend who in real life is in a long-term and happy relationship, and the fourth dream was with a guy who has never been interested in me and who also has a girlfriend. The dominoes fell - all four times, I'd dreamt of having sex with men who didn't pick me as their first choice. The message is clear: I'll do - but I'm not a strong enough candidate to be anyone's number one.
I've spent the past few weeks feeling much better while I'm awake, but my unconscious still wants to ram home that I'm not good enough. If you'll excuse the weak pun, it's fucking annoying.
Why would my mind do this to me, I asked my therapist? Why can't I dream about people being MADLY IN LOVE with me, given that I am wondrous? Obviously she has NO IDEA because we're talking about the inner workings of the human brain - but she conjectured that my wounds are still recent, and that it will probably take a while for my unconscious to catch up with my rational mind. Super!
No, I'm patient, really. I can wait. Proof of that came last night, when I went online at 18:00 London time, which equates to 10:00 PST, and - with thousands of other people - pressed the button to buy tickets for this year's Burning Man festival in Nevada. I was given a queue position of 703. I refreshed. And refreshed again. And again. Still 703. Then the system froze. Facebook was crackling with rage. "Don't panic," the Burning Man people told us. "Our system has frozen but your place in the queue will not be lost. We're doing everything we can." I waited calmly. An hour later, the system rebooted itself. I was given a new position in the queue: 23,845. Everyone had been bumped back around 20,000 places. For a festival renowned for its peace and inclusive attitudes, some of the rage on FB was hilarious to behold. Numb, I carried on staring at the screen. My queue position automatically refreshed itself every minute. Just over seven hours later, at 01:18, I reached the front. I kid you not. 01:18. In the time it took me to buy a ticket, I could have flown to New York and made the booking at a more appropriate time of day. And apparently the online queues to get tickets are nothing like the physical queues to get in and out. I tell you what, this festival better be good. I want a king size feather mattress, air conditioning, a horse and carriage, and champagne on tap. That happens at Burning Man, right?
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