Haven’t had a dream in a long time…

…You see the life I’ve got means I hardly sleep a jot.

I started university at the end of September, and it’s full on already, man.  I mean, right now I’m just taking a break from listening to some additional lecture material about standard deviation and z-scores, and later on I’ll be trying to approximately balance the evidence for and against the Aquatic Ape Hypothesis in time for a presentation.

Anyway what with this and that, I really haven’t been keeping up with my sleep research.

But on Saturday, hungover after dinner at a friend’s house,* my subconscious woke me up with a dream that K had just dumped me – by text, the cad.  It wasn’t even spellingly or grammatically correct, which is all the more heartbreaking.

This morning, a dream about masturbation. No really, there was a Downton Abbey – style house in which lived a lot of aristocratic women who had never learnt how to masturbate.  Two of the servant-girls slyly told them what they were missing.  The aristocrats were too overcome with new-found delight to know that the servants were laughing behind their aprons at how pathetic their naive mistresses were.

Also, sitting at my computer studying, and being distracted by a large, dark grey owl that seemed to swoop directly towards my bedroom window, then change tack at the last moment to fly over the house instead.

* there were deep-fried olives, and homemade lamb ravioli!  Juskers I’m a student don’t mean I have to eat pot noodles, yo.

home

I was a young girl with longish fair hair.  (Or was I watching a film about a young girl?  Bloody film dreams!)  I’d been adopted by a kindly couple and was arriving home with them permanently after months of visits and discussions, during which I’d kept thinking they would change their mind.  There was every opportunity for them to decide I was too much trouble – or if not I, then the adoption process.  My new father in the dream was my real-life dad, although much younger, which he would be seeing as I was more than twenty years younger myself.  I sobbed with relief, my new mother watching me gently, as I looked around at the smallish living room, the oak-furnished kitchen where I now lived and could not be sent away from.

I’d say the meanings of this dream are fairly self-explanatory: longing for love, wanting parental protection, wanting a second chance at childhood, wishing my childhood / parents had been different.  In particular, it’s only in relatively recent years that my real-life dad and I have come to understand each other better and be close; hence me wishing us both younger again, so that we could get to know each other with more years, and my adulthood, still ahead of us.