Dreams: Bigotry

Fevered in 1991

...But I've been having these really weird dreams. Like the one where I was old. Well, not old, I reminded myself - just a little over middle aged. And I was like really distressed thinking of how I had used to think of people who were 40 as really old. And my daughter Cynthia walked up to me with this penguin. Emperor. And she said "This is Hector, the one I've told you about." And I got really nervous, because Cynthia had never told me that Hector was a penguin. "So, do we have your blessing?" She had told me that she and Hector wanted to get married. I was pretty sure she hadn't told me that Hector was a penguin. "I can't believe you're asking me this," I said. And my lovely daughter's face fell. And then it got really hard - really disappointed. "It's just because he's a penguin isn't it?" My mind was in a whirl. The truth was that yes, in fact, my whole objection to Hector could be summed up in three words: He's a penguin. But Cynthia had told me so many things about this Hector, how well they got along, how much fun they had together, but never that he was a penguin? Cynthia didn't say anything else. There were tears in her eyes, and she looked so angry with me, it broke my heart. And I thought of how well I trusted her judgment, and I was so sorry I had doubted her, but these thoughts took so long to emerge from my confusion that she had already stomped out the door, Hector gone with her. And I was so sorry. So sorry she didn't get to see me change my mind. So sorry... And this dream was so totally real! Not just the sensation of being slow (but still assuring myself I was in fine shape, just look at other guys my age (sheesh)), but the emotions. The confusion, sorrow. I don't know. Animal rights lovers would have a field day with that one, I'm sure.

And I've been having lots of intense dreams like this. Where cross-section CAT scans of my head talk to me in Spanish, and I understand that there telling me that I have to preserve the Spam in petroleum jelly, because that's the only way to keep the Fred Birch Society from finding it. And the one where I 'woke up' and I was wearing a rubber Ronald Reagan mask backwards so I woke up and there was some light shining through, but it smelled really bad and was really hot with my breath coming back at me and I shook my head and the world flopped around and then I picked this thing off my head and there was this empty Ronald Reagan mask in my hand. I really don't want to think about what any of these dreams mean. I'm sure Freud would have interesting things to say about them. I just can't force myself to care a whole lot. Mostly I just figure I should try to get over what ails me.

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