affirmations

[featherynscale]

I dreamed I was in Las Vegas, staying in a very white sort of hotel. I had come to Vegas for the purpose of getting married to kittenpants and triadruid, because apparently, that had just become legal. Everyone was invited to the wedding, but nobody came. kittenpants' dad did give us a ring on the phone to curse at me and call me a homewrecker, but that was about it. My relatives weren't speaking to me. Things were otherwise proceeding well.

Then, I did a small motion, like twisting a doorknob, and everything changed. I was in the same hotel room, in the same position, but I was now in an alternate dimension where I was in Vegas to get married to druidevo. My mother was in attendance, and had taken up wearing the colors she was planning to wear as mother of the bride in the ceremony for the week or so leading up to the thing. Again, things seemed to proceed well, except that everywhere we went, there would be performances of different shows - not Vegas-style shows, but plays that all seemed to be of stories of the Virginia Woolf type. Invariably, we would go to these plays, and I would be pulled out of the audience to play one of the characters. The fact that I didn't have a script did not seem to dissuade anyone. Once I did this in a white bra and slip set, very Janet Weiss.

Then, that movement of shifting happened again. Now I am in the show, still, in the bra and slip, but one of the other actors is telling me backstage how he was helping to make the arrangements for my marriage to malvito. For some reason, the wedding is going to involve people in Star Trek uniforms, and he is getting them together for us. Other people don't notice that anything has changed. I meet up with my mother after the show. She is very proud of me but wishes I would do something other than these science fiction things. I thought it was Virginia Woolf, but don't say anything. We are supposed to go to visit an elderly relative in a small village outside the city. He is a veteran, and the village is a veteran's retirement home. When we get there, there are a lot of cob cottages, very Merry Olde England. There is a fine mist, and a nanny is walking by with a little girl of about five. Otherwise, things seem deserted. We go into the cottage that our relative owns, and he is not there. All is quiet for a moment, and then we are attacked. Some sort of medical device, like a segmented, flexible metal cable with an injection device on the end coils and strikes at me, trying to stick me with a needle (I realize that the needle is spring-mounted - it reminds me of the pressure-variable stylus that kittenpants uses with her drawing tablet). I think that it was meant to be a delivery system for morphine, but I know that what is in it now is not morphine, but propaganda. I grab the cable, struggle against it, and finally am able to smash the needle against the cob. It is a very Paul Atreides moment. Now there is a choice: I know that there are similar units in the other cottages. Do I destroy them, or do I run back to the hotel where my wedding is supposed to occur very very soon? I also know that I'm not going to know the answer to that question, because I'm waking up, and have been ever since I had the thought about the stylus point. And I do.


Also, things affirmed by this and by the New Year Ritual (which will no doubt, be recorded elsewhere, as it involved a goat on roller skates):

Events in life are specific, not global. Responses to them should also be specific, not global.

Mother Culture would like to be global, but is still specific. Responses to her, also should be specific and individualized.

The right way is a myth.

Response strategies should be numberless. Variation is key to survival.