Cathy Eats Her Words

October 12, 2007

A dream

Filed under: Dream — jeanne @ 12:37 pm

I’m going with a friend up to the mountains of Virginia/West Virginia, something like 20 miles northwest of Abingdon. There’s a map. It’s called Rock-something. I’m moving up there with all my stuff, moving into a trailer on a property with other trailers, around a nice lake in a hollow.

Someone doesn’t like me, some guy I might have met early in the dream, but I forget now. He’s sent his cronies out to get me, to do me harm. A woman calls on the phone, she wants my address. I give her my address in Atlanta, but don’t tell her the city or zip, just the street address. Then I get suspicious, and want to know why she wants to know, but she hangs up.

Then the cars arrive with the people who are out to get me. They are old nasty cars full of mountain people, dressed in rags, with grizzled faces and missing teeth. The woman who called me is in the second car. They get out, their intent obvious, and making no secret about the fact that this guy who hates me wants me out of the area. I try to talk to them, getting absolutely nowhere with the men, and find one of the women compatible, sympathetic to my pleas, but determined to do what she was sent for. I appeal to her sympathy, pointing to my chest, telling her I’m here because I’ve got breast cancer and wanting her to leave me alone because I’ve got enough to deal with. She goes ahead down the hill to my trailer to join the others.

I can see down the hill to where my trailer is. It’s a beautiful location, with fall trees surrounding the lake. They’ve taken the roof off and I can see all my stuf inside, covered with leaves as if it’s been there uncovered for a full season. I am very sad, and very anxious, and I want to do something to stop them. I go down the hill, stopping people and telling them I’ve got cancer and they should leave me alone. I am in tears, sobbing as I speak. Nobody moves to stop them. A group of the men walk past me up the hill, carrying one of the last items I moved to the trailer. It seems to be a market umbrella or something like that, carried in a sling. I’m not sure what it is, but I know it’s mine, and they’re not saving it but stealing it.

I get down almost to the trailer. I’m afraid they will try to harm me, even tho their stated intention is to set my trailer on fire. Nobody tries to stop them, and I’m crying and upset and just want them to leave me alone. They set the fire, and the leaves flare up, spreading in my direction. I turn to run, and am chased by the fire, which sets my clothes on fire. I put out the fire on myself and continue to run away, eventually running on my hands and feet. I descend around a hillside, and come out at a rest stop of some sort, where there are people siting aound.

I tell people my pitiful story, crying as I speak. One woman is sympathetic. I get on the phone to call the sherrif to come make them stop. The answering service says it’s going to take awhile, if ever, before the sherrif comes out. evidently there is no real sherriff for this jurisdiction, and he’s got to come from somewhere else, or organize a posse of locals, or something. I’m not sure which little community I’m actually in, or where my trailer is. I hang up, certain that I’ll get no help there.

Then I’m running thru the woods again, but I’m naked now. I come across a group of hikers camped out in the woods. One guy sees my nakedness, I cover my chest with my hands. He gets me some clothes, and the group of them proceed to fit me out with hiking clothes, including hiking socks dipped in hot wax to protect my feet. I put everything on, until I’m bundled up. They’re discussing how the snow is lessening but still heavy, and it becomes obvious that they’re not going with me, but sending me out to do it myself. One of the guys has a baby in a cargo pocket of his pants. I can see its little bald head sticking up. He keeps feeding it tidbits. They discuss whether I should take the baby up the hill with me, but we decide I’ve got enough to handle already. (Which is what I tried to tell the people who were fixing to torch my trailer.)

Alone, I journey off to climb up over the mountain to where the hollow with my now burned trailer is. I don’t think I’ll be in time to stop them, so I’m going to retrieve whatever is left. I reach another wayside stop with people sitting around. A woman I spoke to at the first stop recognizes me, remembers my story, and says she’s on my side and hoping for the best. I’m still emotional, but I’ve stopped crying about how hard my life is. I’ve somehow gone from being fearful and whiny to feeling self sufficient, calm, and forgiving of the people who’ve wrecked my things (what are things, anyway?). I am very conscious of the shift in my feelings. I put some coins into the payphone and try to call my parents. They don’ts answer, but I get my daughter, and we talk about the situation. I am very glad to be in touch with her. I go back to the woman and ask her to try and call them for me, later. I put their phone number on the back of a paper napkin, and a note saying I love them, that I’ve been trying to reach them, and that I would like them to come and get me. I repeat how I love them. I notice that my handwriting is very loose and sloppy, and so I read the note to the woman. I’m pretty sure she’ll contact them; the only problem is that I still don’t know precisely where I am, and so can’t tell anyone how to reach me.

After a short while awake, I go back into the dream, or something like it. I have now moved into another place in the woods, more like a large cave than a structure. There are vines everywhere, and I set about pulling up the vines and making it neater. The vines go for hundreds of yards, and I follow, pulling them out of the ground. Finally they all come up, and I pull the ends in, making a huge pile of ex-vines that I shove over the side of a cliff.

One of the guys who gave me the clothes is there, visiting. I go inside to change clothes, and pick some of the things they gave me, putting them on and modelling them in front of the mirror. One of the things I try on is a lacy black peignoir, with a pair of white panties that bulge out and make me look like a guy, even tho I poke at it to make sure it’s only my fat. I really like the look of my costume, even tho I am very conflicted about wearing it in front of the guy, because I’m really happily married to my guy, who is somehow there with me, and don’t want to get the guy interested. I go out and we interact, and I do things around the place, and find that I’m wearing normal sweatshirts and pants instead of the slinky thing I had on. I am relieved.

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