dear diary:

[Guest guest]

Tuesday, April 7, 1998

 

a story

....today i decided to analyze my actual morning using dream analysis. .

..

 

i wake up and it's raining. obviously, i think, this sybolizes a need

to find some kind of balance between aspects of my inner and outer life.

i stumble downstairs to the kitchen (the second of three floors which

represents, of course, my conscious mind) then one more flight down into

the living room (my subconscious) in order to get the morning paper.

 

by this action, i am apparently seeking important information which is

right outside the door or within my grasp. ..

 

the newspaper is soaking wet, so i deduce that this must represent

information in my subconscious which i cannot access due to some

psychological defect or weakness, or perhaps my repressed anger at

having been born to die, or my continual feeling of angst about NOT

having been born a duck.

 

i return to my kitchen, wring out the paper, and open the window (an

obvious sexual gesture). i begin making coffee and carefully slice a

bagel, having remembered that i read somewhere that 60% of all kitchen

injuries in hospital ER's are bagel related. while slicing, i notice a

spider atop the toaster oven, evidently symbolizing my overly protetive

mother. distracted by guilt of this association, i cut myself with the

bread knife. which i inherited from mom. more guilt.

 

the kniife is of couse a phallic symbol, which explains in one fell

swoop both my injury, my unnatural devotion to my father, and my

homosexuality.

 

i run upstairs to the third floor--the spiritual aspect of my mind-- for

a band aid (which is a symbol for the healing aspects of

mother-father-sky-god. it may also convey my need to hide scars from

those slings and arrows that i'm heir to.

 

at this point, i note that all of this stair climbling is really just

about sex. bandaged, but not yet healed, i return to the kitchen for

breakfast. i eat my cold bagel, thereby avoiding the spider, and forgo

the usual breakfast banana as i'm analyzing all of my actions and i

suddenly feel quite self conscious. . .

 

i pick up the book i was reading last night but can't find my glasses.

my inability to read the text, which squirms before my eyes like a

millon snakes, ads me to believe that i must work on my ability to focus

and concentrate while in my daily dream life. or it may mean that i

have repressed heterosexual tendencies which were completely sublimated

by an encounter with my high school gym teacher.

 

nah. i decide to go back to bed. i dream that i am a spider watching a

crazy woman try to slice a bagel and analyze the shite out of

everything.

 

boring! i dream, so i go back to my web and dream that i wake up and

it's raining. i'm a spider. it'll be okay. it's only rain.

 

i love you!

gen