I got the emotional recoil from wednesday night's post yesterday evening. Y'know that feeling, having opened up and bared your soul, you need to curl up and hide again, back into self-protection mode. I couldn't create anything; even frogged the crochet I started as it just wasn't working. Nothing worked. Tom sat and waxed my dreads and tightened them all up (which made my head hurt!) yet it was really nice, just having that contact.

Then during the night I had one of my 'moving home dreams'. They're the only type of recurring dream I get, and a few years back the psychotherapist I had at the time helped me analyse them. Basically, the house represents you, the dreamer. How it looks outside tells you how you think other people see you. How it looks inside is how you are at that time. I rarely see the outside of my house, and didn't last night. And the fact that I'm always moving says enough about my own transition.

The analysis of the inside is pretty straightforward, really. Storage space and cupboards are your memories, how you deal with information and so on. The bathroom isn't just cleanliness, it's the emotional centre (water being the point there - water is always a symbol for emotions) The kitchen is the 'heart', and invariably links to mother-relationships and nuturing. Doors are as they are, gateways and opportunities and so on. It all fascinates me.

In my dream last night, I wasn't sure why we were moving.. think it was because this new flat had a garden, even though we were giving up the security of our council flat. I remember the agent and flat owner being a bit dodgy... definitely the sort you wouldn't trust in real life. It was empty and bare yet rather spacious. I was impulsive and accepted it before looking closely. Also have a feeling that we didn't have much choice.

The walls were covered in huge damp patches, really miserable looking. Paint was peeling off all the skirting boards in great chunks. The windows didn't have double glazing (which in the dream I declared was 'illegal') and wouldn't close properly. Infact, all the locks were broken, even on the doors, and it felt very cold and insecure. I think there was an upstairs but didn't go up... only went out to the backroom which was supposed to be the kitchen, but can't remember what it looked like or whether there was anything there other than the grey, damp atmosphere. The place hadn't been decorated in years and was in an appalling state. The agent kept trying to offer us odd bits of cutlery and knackered stereo equipment as a way of making us feel at home yet I refused them all, and wondered how we'd be able to live there without all our stuff being nicked.

Have a feeling that in the end we decided we wouldn't stay, or was at least going to complain about the place. Didn't have that heavy feeling of dread that I sometimes get, having to stay somewhere that feels uncomfortable. Actually, just had a thought about the last 'moving' dream from a few months back - that had damp on the walls too, with blocked up cupboards and too many people trying to cram into a small living space... the housemates were strangers and kept leaving a mess in the kitchen.

Just been out of the flat for the first time since christmas day. Wahoo! Only down to the high street though, nothing special, although I'm sure all the rain and pollution did me the world of good ;) Have that feeling in my belly and shortness of breath that tells me a panic attack is imminent; hell nows why. For now I'm going to wash up and coat a mannequin head in tissue paper before painting it. Think I'll leave any knitting/crochet until I get my yarn-mojo back.

AuthorWoolly Wormhead
CategoriesHead Zone