HIFF stands for the Hawai'i International Film Festival. The Festival ran for a week-and-a-half and I managed to see four movies. Every year I tell myself I should take vacation during this time so I can see more movies!
The first movie I saw was called, Fruit Fly. It was a musical set in San Francisco. A performance artist comes to San Francisco via the Philippines (went looking for her birth parents) and Maryland (where she grew up with her adoptive parents). She moves in with a gay male set designer, a lesbian couple and a runaway teen. It was a fun, raunchy, tongue-in-cheek film that had songs like, "Public Transportation" and "Fag Hag." In one scene, one of the protagonist's friends says that she's not a fag hag (she sees it as a pejorative term), but more like a fruit fly. Hence the title. It was a fun way to start my HIFF experience.
The next movie I saw was Made in China. This was a film about a young creator of novelty items in Texas taking a trip to China to make a deal to produce his product. He is scammed by his "Chinese contact" (found on Craig's List) and finds himself befriending a successful business man in a neighborhood bar. Hilarity (sort of) ensues.
The earnestness of the main character really has you feeling for him, yet he seems so naive, you want to slap his head at the same time. Well, not really slap his head (since in general I am a pacifist), but grab him by the shoulders and shake him (in a verbal, non-violent way). It got a bit boring in the middle, but overall I enjoyed it. The actor was there for a Q&A after the movie. He said it was guerilla film making. All filming was done without Government permission and the city shots and scenes with "locals" were done on the fly...so one take only.
The third movie I saw was my favorite. It is called Flavor of Happiness. Except for having a Japanese actor play a Chinese chef, I loved this movie. I guess I can excuse this supposedly Chinese character's very Japanese ways on having lived in Japan for so long. This was a touching, funny and lovely story about a Chinese chef who cooks delicious, simple, quality dishes and the young single mother he takes on as an apprentice after he has a stroke. The relationship between the characters and their performances were so subtle and nuanced and beautiful. And the food looked awesome. You could tell the director loved food. I mean, that's the perfect way to describe it...the food shots were lovingly done. My friend called it "food porn," and while funny, the shots were a bit more...uh...refined(?) than that.
The movie reminded me a little of Ratatouille, where home cooking, done simply and well can evoke memories of the past. A time when the characters felt safe, comforted and loved...feelings that are all too scarce in their adult lives. In the Q&A with the Director and Producer after the movie, the Director said he's a foodie and always wanted to make a film about food. Chinese food is his favorite, and while filming (a different movie) in China, there was this one dish -- scrambled eggs with fresh tomatoes -- that he never tired of, since it reminded him of his childhood. This is the dish featured in the film.
Another great thing about HIFF is that the films shown here are sometimes their American debut. Some of the Asian films have been screened at European film festivals, but not in the United States. That is the case with the last HIFF film I saw, the Japanese remake of Sideways. I think I liked the American version better (I say "think" because it has been awhile since I saw it). Although it was fun to see the Japanese touches in the movie. For example, when the Paul Giamatti character arrives in Los Angeles to meet his friend who is getting married, he talks about some recent disappointment in his life and decided to come to America for the wedding (and this pre-wedding trip) hoping the western winds would help blow away his discontent.
The director of the film was there for a Q&A after the movie and he said that there is a rumor that an Indian version of Sideways will be in the works shortly. There is a trend in the international film industry to take a well-established American film and do the foreign country's version of it.
Although there were many more films I would have liked to see, I am happy with the four that I managed to view. HIFF, HIFF, Hooray!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Loss
It has been a tumultuous week. Yesterday, my heart was so heavy that all I wanted to do was wallow in my own sadness. There's a certain comfort in wallowing. Perhaps that's why pigs do it.
This week I went to my Uncle's funeral. I did not think it would be as emotional as it was for me...remains for me. I saw family that I usually only see at weddings and funerals. It was nice to see them. It was nice to be together, although I am virtually a stranger to some of them and them to me. Yet, I have known most of them for all our lives. There is some comfort in knowing that you share blood. Odd, isn't it, the power of familial bonds.
After the funeral, my Aunty (the widow) collapsed in the restroom and was taken to the hospital. Later that day, my mom informed me my cousin was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and the outlook is rather grim.
I did not experience a tidal wave of sadness -- powerful and forceful. But more along the lines of feeling myself sinking slowly into the depths of the ocean. Overwhelming, not in a dramatic way, but rather, in a quiet, silent, sensory deprivation type of way. No wailing or sobbing, but as my chest tightens ever so slowly, tears silently seep out of my eyes.
I cried out to God. Asked for refuge. To hide in a cave. Wanted to continue wallowing. God is good. He allowed some time for wallowing, then He provided real comfort. Thanks, God.
Today is better. My heart is not as heavy and I have decided wallowing is for pigs. My Aunty is doing well and should be going home today. They believe she collapsed from dehydration, so she received fluids and is feeling better. My parents visited my cousin and said he looks well, although he has quite the battle ahead of him.
I miss my Uncle. He always had a ready smile and "hello," and would ask how I was doing. Even when his health began failing and he was weaker and had difficulty getting out of bed. He was soft-spoken and conveyed a gentleness that was welcoming and comforting at the same time. From family stories, I know he could be strict, but I never saw that side.
They showed a video at his funeral, of my Uncle in his wheelchair, singing "Jesus Loves Me" to his great-grandson. Singing in the halting way that older people sometimes do, as though they cannot get enough air into their lungs. But it was sweet and genuine...childlike in the loveliest, most respectful and complementary sense of that word.
I love you, Uncle. You will be missed.
This week I went to my Uncle's funeral. I did not think it would be as emotional as it was for me...remains for me. I saw family that I usually only see at weddings and funerals. It was nice to see them. It was nice to be together, although I am virtually a stranger to some of them and them to me. Yet, I have known most of them for all our lives. There is some comfort in knowing that you share blood. Odd, isn't it, the power of familial bonds.
After the funeral, my Aunty (the widow) collapsed in the restroom and was taken to the hospital. Later that day, my mom informed me my cousin was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and the outlook is rather grim.
I did not experience a tidal wave of sadness -- powerful and forceful. But more along the lines of feeling myself sinking slowly into the depths of the ocean. Overwhelming, not in a dramatic way, but rather, in a quiet, silent, sensory deprivation type of way. No wailing or sobbing, but as my chest tightens ever so slowly, tears silently seep out of my eyes.
I cried out to God. Asked for refuge. To hide in a cave. Wanted to continue wallowing. God is good. He allowed some time for wallowing, then He provided real comfort. Thanks, God.
Today is better. My heart is not as heavy and I have decided wallowing is for pigs. My Aunty is doing well and should be going home today. They believe she collapsed from dehydration, so she received fluids and is feeling better. My parents visited my cousin and said he looks well, although he has quite the battle ahead of him.
I miss my Uncle. He always had a ready smile and "hello," and would ask how I was doing. Even when his health began failing and he was weaker and had difficulty getting out of bed. He was soft-spoken and conveyed a gentleness that was welcoming and comforting at the same time. From family stories, I know he could be strict, but I never saw that side.
They showed a video at his funeral, of my Uncle in his wheelchair, singing "Jesus Loves Me" to his great-grandson. Singing in the halting way that older people sometimes do, as though they cannot get enough air into their lungs. But it was sweet and genuine...childlike in the loveliest, most respectful and complementary sense of that word.
I love you, Uncle. You will be missed.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Achy Breaky Everything
I ache.
Pretty much all over my body.
Getting old sucks. Being out of shape sucks. Being old and out of shape really sucks.
I played tennis with some friends last night, hence my currently sorry state. I suppose getting older is not as bad as forgetting the reality of being older. I did not realize how much more effort is required when one is older. It means those balls you would chase down (and get to) on a regular basis take more effort. It means those knees you relied upon to spring into action are more rusty and creakey than springy. It means the supple wrist you relied upon to make last minute changes need extra support (sports tape) and feel the brunt of no longer being supple.
I realize I am whining and that whining is not attractive. I do not care right now. All I want to do is sit in a hot tub with super-powerful jets and soak my achy breaky body. Then I would like a full-body, therapeutic massage by someone with strong hands. *sigh* That would be awesome. My mouth is now slack and my eyes unfocused as I contemplate fantasy becoming reality. Excuse any spelling or grammatical errors as I drift off into my pain-induced haze.
Great, I'm back. Well, it was nice while it lasted.
I currently have many types of pain. Perhaps I will get some perverse pleasure out of identifying the different types. First, there is the sharp jab that startles you (my shoulder when I move it a certain way). Then there is the slow achy throb that just underlies daily life. There is also the pain in which your muscles are constantly tight (my neck). There is also the shooting pain that starts at one part of the body, but ends up at another, like when my lower back hurts, then shoots down to my butt, leaving a trail of wincing pain in its wake.
I'm walking funny, I'm wincing at odd times and must look somewhat odder than usual shuffling around. Although I looked a lot more awkward last night trying to get out of bed and use the bathroom (drank lots of water to avoid leg cramps). Quasimodo would've looked like Fred Astaire next to me. Not to mention what I must look like walking down stairs (note aforementioned creaky knees). Makes me walk bow-legged in an uneven gait clutching the handrail in case those knees decide to give out.
All right, even I am getting irritated with my whiney self. I could have avoided all this if I did not play tennis and spent the evening on my couch watching Project Runway like I had originally intended. Of course, the other option would be to exercise (at least a little) every day so I would not feel this intensity of pain. Maybe then, I wouldn't lumber to the ball and be huffing and puffing after every point. At one point during the set, I actually said, "lumber, lumber, lumber" aloud as I moved toward the ball. Nothing like creating your own disparaging commentary while on the court.
Pretty much all over my body.
Getting old sucks. Being out of shape sucks. Being old and out of shape really sucks.
I played tennis with some friends last night, hence my currently sorry state. I suppose getting older is not as bad as forgetting the reality of being older. I did not realize how much more effort is required when one is older. It means those balls you would chase down (and get to) on a regular basis take more effort. It means those knees you relied upon to spring into action are more rusty and creakey than springy. It means the supple wrist you relied upon to make last minute changes need extra support (sports tape) and feel the brunt of no longer being supple.
I realize I am whining and that whining is not attractive. I do not care right now. All I want to do is sit in a hot tub with super-powerful jets and soak my achy breaky body. Then I would like a full-body, therapeutic massage by someone with strong hands. *sigh* That would be awesome. My mouth is now slack and my eyes unfocused as I contemplate fantasy becoming reality. Excuse any spelling or grammatical errors as I drift off into my pain-induced haze.
Great, I'm back. Well, it was nice while it lasted.
I currently have many types of pain. Perhaps I will get some perverse pleasure out of identifying the different types. First, there is the sharp jab that startles you (my shoulder when I move it a certain way). Then there is the slow achy throb that just underlies daily life. There is also the pain in which your muscles are constantly tight (my neck). There is also the shooting pain that starts at one part of the body, but ends up at another, like when my lower back hurts, then shoots down to my butt, leaving a trail of wincing pain in its wake.
I'm walking funny, I'm wincing at odd times and must look somewhat odder than usual shuffling around. Although I looked a lot more awkward last night trying to get out of bed and use the bathroom (drank lots of water to avoid leg cramps). Quasimodo would've looked like Fred Astaire next to me. Not to mention what I must look like walking down stairs (note aforementioned creaky knees). Makes me walk bow-legged in an uneven gait clutching the handrail in case those knees decide to give out.
All right, even I am getting irritated with my whiney self. I could have avoided all this if I did not play tennis and spent the evening on my couch watching Project Runway like I had originally intended. Of course, the other option would be to exercise (at least a little) every day so I would not feel this intensity of pain. Maybe then, I wouldn't lumber to the ball and be huffing and puffing after every point. At one point during the set, I actually said, "lumber, lumber, lumber" aloud as I moved toward the ball. Nothing like creating your own disparaging commentary while on the court.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Hot Child In The City
Hot Child in the City.
That would be me. Except I'm not running wild or looking pretty. I may be smelling a bit funky, but that is always something that is difficult to determine objectively about oneself.
Anyway, about a week ago it was horribly humid and hatefully hot. I had the fan blowing full blast on me and I would still get up in the early morning (around 2 or 3 a.m.) and have to jump in the shower to make the sticky sweat go away and feel clean enough to go back to sleep. Several days last week I broke down and turned on the air conditioner in my living room and slept on the couch. I really need to start saving money to purchase an air conditioner for my bedroom.
Perhaps I should start a collection. Donations would be much appreciated. I should definitely hit up my co-workers and family first. My spiel would include how I will be less grouchy and more perky if I can get a great night's sleep. I will be even more of a joy to be around (if that is humanly possible) and more productive (definitely possible). I will also have to get approval of our apartment management board. I live in a building that has nothing sticking out of it. No lanais. No air conditioners. Nada. If I want an air conditioner in my room, I will have to purchase a special one that does not stick out of the wall and sends the water condensation somewhere it won't cause any damage. So, you can see it is not as easy as traipsing down to CostCo and picking up an air conditioner. I gotta get a special one specially installed. *sigh*
In the meantime, I have given up trying to use my air conditioner sparingly. I am all into comfort. Me, me, me. How easily I have given up my "green" principles in favor of relief in the form of cool air. I tell myself it is worth $40+ extra a month in electricity bills to have an uninterrupted night's sleep.
One would think that I would not have such an aversion to heat and humidity having grown up in Hawai'i. Yes, we generally have tradewinds that keep it cooler, but still, it's not the Arctic Circle here, either. That's why I love San Francisco. Even though the air may be "wet" at least it's a cool wet and not a steamy wet like it is here. You can always put more clothes on if you are cold. In fact, there are a lot of cute winter outfits. When you're hot, there is only so much you can take off and still be allowed to roam around in public. Even if you choose to remain at home, you can take off everything and still be hot. I'm just trying to make a point, not gross everyone out. In that spirit, I will move on...
So the weather has eased up a bit and it is not so horrifically hot and humid. I feel less grouchy. My temper is more easily leashed. I do not feel as aggravated or irritable. I bet there is a correlation between heat and acts of violence. I certainly feel more peaceful when cool and dry. Literally.
That would be me. Except I'm not running wild or looking pretty. I may be smelling a bit funky, but that is always something that is difficult to determine objectively about oneself.
Anyway, about a week ago it was horribly humid and hatefully hot. I had the fan blowing full blast on me and I would still get up in the early morning (around 2 or 3 a.m.) and have to jump in the shower to make the sticky sweat go away and feel clean enough to go back to sleep. Several days last week I broke down and turned on the air conditioner in my living room and slept on the couch. I really need to start saving money to purchase an air conditioner for my bedroom.
Perhaps I should start a collection. Donations would be much appreciated. I should definitely hit up my co-workers and family first. My spiel would include how I will be less grouchy and more perky if I can get a great night's sleep. I will be even more of a joy to be around (if that is humanly possible) and more productive (definitely possible). I will also have to get approval of our apartment management board. I live in a building that has nothing sticking out of it. No lanais. No air conditioners. Nada. If I want an air conditioner in my room, I will have to purchase a special one that does not stick out of the wall and sends the water condensation somewhere it won't cause any damage. So, you can see it is not as easy as traipsing down to CostCo and picking up an air conditioner. I gotta get a special one specially installed. *sigh*
In the meantime, I have given up trying to use my air conditioner sparingly. I am all into comfort. Me, me, me. How easily I have given up my "green" principles in favor of relief in the form of cool air. I tell myself it is worth $40+ extra a month in electricity bills to have an uninterrupted night's sleep.
One would think that I would not have such an aversion to heat and humidity having grown up in Hawai'i. Yes, we generally have tradewinds that keep it cooler, but still, it's not the Arctic Circle here, either. That's why I love San Francisco. Even though the air may be "wet" at least it's a cool wet and not a steamy wet like it is here. You can always put more clothes on if you are cold. In fact, there are a lot of cute winter outfits. When you're hot, there is only so much you can take off and still be allowed to roam around in public. Even if you choose to remain at home, you can take off everything and still be hot. I'm just trying to make a point, not gross everyone out. In that spirit, I will move on...
So the weather has eased up a bit and it is not so horrifically hot and humid. I feel less grouchy. My temper is more easily leashed. I do not feel as aggravated or irritable. I bet there is a correlation between heat and acts of violence. I certainly feel more peaceful when cool and dry. Literally.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Journalists Home
I missed my bus today.
Every morning as I get ready, I have the news on the television. I like to hear about the weather and I think the audible sounds help stimulate my bunny Blackberry. Of course, I have no proof that the noise is good for him, but I like to think I am doing my part to avoid bunny-brain atrophy.
Anyway, like I said, I like to hear the weather and other local news, so I usually watch the NBC or CBS affiliate. Today however, the most compelling stories were on ABC's Good Morning America. So compelling that I sat down to watch the news and finally left my apartment just in time to see my bus roar down the street as I waited on my floor for the elevator to arrive.
What was so compelling? GMC showed footage of the two young journalists who were imprisoned in North Korea coming off the plane and into the arms of their loving and relieved families.
Euna Lee and Laura Ling (younger sister of journalist and former "The View" co-host Lisa Ling) were safely back in the United States after 140 days of imprisonment. Tears ran down my cheeks as Euna hugged her 4-year-old daughter and husband. Wouldn't you know it, I had already put on my make-up, so I was trying to dab my eyes so I wouldn't get streaks down my face, but Bare Minerals (which I just recently began using) is actually quite forgiving and I just left my face the way it was.
Anyway, I digress. I do not know if it is because they are Asian or women or Asian women, but this story makes me choke up every time I hear or read about it. Maybe it is because I keep thinking about a little girl not knowing what was going on, but just that her mommy was not there. Maybe it is because North Korea's Kim Jong Il is so darn unpredictable and seemingly kind of crazy.
Ling did not focus on how scared they must have been. She did briefly mention worrying about being placed in a hard labor camp. I would think there were darker things I would have been afraid of imprisoned by myself (they kept both women separated). She said they were called into a "meeting" and were led into a conference room. I can imagine being so afraid of the unknown. After nearly 5 months, where are they taking me? What fate awaits? And then as the door opens, seeing President Clinton. I think I would have lost it. I probably would have collapsed in tears of relief and pent-up anxiety. Ling said as soon as they saw the former President, "We were shocked but we knew instantly in our hearts that the nightmare of our lives was finally coming to an end, and now we stand here, home and free."
President Clinton was the diplomatic envoy that got the two women out of North Korea. He looked good. Distinguished, proud, but suitably humble and very Statesman-esque as he followed the women off the plane and embraced his former Vice-President Al Gore and shook the hands of the family and well-wishers.
Of course now the media is buzzing about potential repercussions. Everyone has been very careful to separate this "humanitarian" mission from any sort of official diplomatic message or position from the current White House. Relations with North Korea are tenuous. Clinton went to Pyongyang at the behest of Kim Jong Il. Mix into that morass the three American hikers who were arrested in Iran, possibly for spying. How does Clinton's humanitarian trip influence Iran's perspective of America in these types of situations?
And of course, the other big story this morning was about George Sodini of Bridgeville, PA who shot up a gym leaving 3 dead, 15 wounded before committing suicide. Apparently he had written about his loneliness and killing plans in his on-line journal. I wonder if anyone had been reading it, and if so, did they think he was just blowing off steam? It is difficult to determine sometimes what is just "venting" and what may be a real cry for help. Ah...but that is fodder for another post.
There is so much to be concerned about...but for now I am going to be happy for Euna and Laura. That they are home, safe with their families. God bless.
Every morning as I get ready, I have the news on the television. I like to hear about the weather and I think the audible sounds help stimulate my bunny Blackberry. Of course, I have no proof that the noise is good for him, but I like to think I am doing my part to avoid bunny-brain atrophy.
Anyway, like I said, I like to hear the weather and other local news, so I usually watch the NBC or CBS affiliate. Today however, the most compelling stories were on ABC's Good Morning America. So compelling that I sat down to watch the news and finally left my apartment just in time to see my bus roar down the street as I waited on my floor for the elevator to arrive.
What was so compelling? GMC showed footage of the two young journalists who were imprisoned in North Korea coming off the plane and into the arms of their loving and relieved families.
Euna Lee and Laura Ling (younger sister of journalist and former "The View" co-host Lisa Ling) were safely back in the United States after 140 days of imprisonment. Tears ran down my cheeks as Euna hugged her 4-year-old daughter and husband. Wouldn't you know it, I had already put on my make-up, so I was trying to dab my eyes so I wouldn't get streaks down my face, but Bare Minerals (which I just recently began using) is actually quite forgiving and I just left my face the way it was.
Anyway, I digress. I do not know if it is because they are Asian or women or Asian women, but this story makes me choke up every time I hear or read about it. Maybe it is because I keep thinking about a little girl not knowing what was going on, but just that her mommy was not there. Maybe it is because North Korea's Kim Jong Il is so darn unpredictable and seemingly kind of crazy.
Ling did not focus on how scared they must have been. She did briefly mention worrying about being placed in a hard labor camp. I would think there were darker things I would have been afraid of imprisoned by myself (they kept both women separated). She said they were called into a "meeting" and were led into a conference room. I can imagine being so afraid of the unknown. After nearly 5 months, where are they taking me? What fate awaits? And then as the door opens, seeing President Clinton. I think I would have lost it. I probably would have collapsed in tears of relief and pent-up anxiety. Ling said as soon as they saw the former President, "We were shocked but we knew instantly in our hearts that the nightmare of our lives was finally coming to an end, and now we stand here, home and free."
President Clinton was the diplomatic envoy that got the two women out of North Korea. He looked good. Distinguished, proud, but suitably humble and very Statesman-esque as he followed the women off the plane and embraced his former Vice-President Al Gore and shook the hands of the family and well-wishers.
Of course now the media is buzzing about potential repercussions. Everyone has been very careful to separate this "humanitarian" mission from any sort of official diplomatic message or position from the current White House. Relations with North Korea are tenuous. Clinton went to Pyongyang at the behest of Kim Jong Il. Mix into that morass the three American hikers who were arrested in Iran, possibly for spying. How does Clinton's humanitarian trip influence Iran's perspective of America in these types of situations?
And of course, the other big story this morning was about George Sodini of Bridgeville, PA who shot up a gym leaving 3 dead, 15 wounded before committing suicide. Apparently he had written about his loneliness and killing plans in his on-line journal. I wonder if anyone had been reading it, and if so, did they think he was just blowing off steam? It is difficult to determine sometimes what is just "venting" and what may be a real cry for help. Ah...but that is fodder for another post.
There is so much to be concerned about...but for now I am going to be happy for Euna and Laura. That they are home, safe with their families. God bless.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Weird Dream
I had this weird dream two nights ago. It is unusual for me to remember my dreams. Often I remember how I felt while dreaming (intense sadness, anger, joy, contentment, etc.) but not the details of the dream itself.
In my dream, I knew I had to help a group of children. I do not know whose children they were, or why they needed help, but I was utterly convinced I had to help them. Part of helping them involved stepping in what looked like run-off water. The water was dirty, but it was moving, like a river runs downstream, but it was very shallow...not even half an inch high. For some reason I had to get the kids away from the water. When we "crossed" the water, the kids got their feet wet, but nothing happened to them. When I stepped in the water, immediately these spore-like substances in blue and green started traveling up my feet, then my legs, and soon engulfed my whole body and entered into my pores. It did not hurt, but I knew it was bad for me.
I felt infested with millions these spore-like creatures moving inside my body. Then, someone gave me a liquid to pour over myself. When I poured the liquid on my arm, one tiny area of my upper arm experienced a sharp pain. I saw a little object coming out of my arm, just barely revealing itself. It looked very small, but as I plucked it out of my arm, it was actually a huge geometric object that somehow I knew was organic and the stuff infesting me. (((shudder))).
I kept pouring the liquid on me and as soon as the little spot of something would appear through my skin, I would pull out this large blue and green object out. Like snowflakes, no two were identical, but they were all similar. The pain was sharp and isolated to whatever area the object came out of...it was not a burning, continuous pain.
Somehow I sensed that I needed to get all the yucky stuff out of me or something bad would happen. As soon as I began pouring the liquid on my skin and pulling these odd objects out, the kids disappeared from my dream. They were not there and they did not seem important anymore. But not because I was preoccupied pulling disgusting geometric objects out of my skin, but as if the role they were meant to play in this story had completed.
And that is when I woke up. I had not finished pulling the invasive species out of my skin and my upper arm hurt in one spot, then quickly faded as I became more conscious.What does this dream mean? At first I thought it may be because I was getting over a cold and felt like it was the virus infesting my body and me (trying to get well), pulling it out of my body.
Then I thought, maybe the application is more spiritual. Is there sin in my life that I have been infested with and am trying to pull out? Something that may bring momentary pain removing, and may seem small and insignificant at first, but once removed was found to be quite large?It was strange because the objects I pulled out of me were not gross. They were not putrid or gelatinous or slimy or ugly. They were sky blue and mint green and were angular with straight lines.
I knew they were bad, but they were not disgusting to pull out. The only thing that was kind of gross was realizing how big they were as I pulled them out from such a tiny pore. And I still definitely felt infested when I woke up. I felt like I needed to scrub myself clean. Just thinking about it again is making me feel itchy.
Perhaps it was an anxiety dream. My job is in limbo and I think it is bothering me more than my conscious self is willing to admit.Why can't I remember the happy dreams? The sweet dreams? I want to dwell on those for awhile.
In my dream, I knew I had to help a group of children. I do not know whose children they were, or why they needed help, but I was utterly convinced I had to help them. Part of helping them involved stepping in what looked like run-off water. The water was dirty, but it was moving, like a river runs downstream, but it was very shallow...not even half an inch high. For some reason I had to get the kids away from the water. When we "crossed" the water, the kids got their feet wet, but nothing happened to them. When I stepped in the water, immediately these spore-like substances in blue and green started traveling up my feet, then my legs, and soon engulfed my whole body and entered into my pores. It did not hurt, but I knew it was bad for me.
I felt infested with millions these spore-like creatures moving inside my body. Then, someone gave me a liquid to pour over myself. When I poured the liquid on my arm, one tiny area of my upper arm experienced a sharp pain. I saw a little object coming out of my arm, just barely revealing itself. It looked very small, but as I plucked it out of my arm, it was actually a huge geometric object that somehow I knew was organic and the stuff infesting me. (((shudder))).
I kept pouring the liquid on me and as soon as the little spot of something would appear through my skin, I would pull out this large blue and green object out. Like snowflakes, no two were identical, but they were all similar. The pain was sharp and isolated to whatever area the object came out of...it was not a burning, continuous pain.
Somehow I sensed that I needed to get all the yucky stuff out of me or something bad would happen. As soon as I began pouring the liquid on my skin and pulling these odd objects out, the kids disappeared from my dream. They were not there and they did not seem important anymore. But not because I was preoccupied pulling disgusting geometric objects out of my skin, but as if the role they were meant to play in this story had completed.
And that is when I woke up. I had not finished pulling the invasive species out of my skin and my upper arm hurt in one spot, then quickly faded as I became more conscious.What does this dream mean? At first I thought it may be because I was getting over a cold and felt like it was the virus infesting my body and me (trying to get well), pulling it out of my body.
Then I thought, maybe the application is more spiritual. Is there sin in my life that I have been infested with and am trying to pull out? Something that may bring momentary pain removing, and may seem small and insignificant at first, but once removed was found to be quite large?It was strange because the objects I pulled out of me were not gross. They were not putrid or gelatinous or slimy or ugly. They were sky blue and mint green and were angular with straight lines.
I knew they were bad, but they were not disgusting to pull out. The only thing that was kind of gross was realizing how big they were as I pulled them out from such a tiny pore. And I still definitely felt infested when I woke up. I felt like I needed to scrub myself clean. Just thinking about it again is making me feel itchy.
Perhaps it was an anxiety dream. My job is in limbo and I think it is bothering me more than my conscious self is willing to admit.Why can't I remember the happy dreams? The sweet dreams? I want to dwell on those for awhile.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Mutual Hate Society
I hate going to the dentist. And I am sure the feeling is mutual. When my dentist sees my name in his appointment book, I am sure he groans inwardly, as he is too much of a professional to outwardly groan.
My intense dislike has nothing to do with my dentist as a person. He is a nice guy and thoughtfully asks about how my parents are doing and if I have been on any trips lately. I, too, am a nice enough person. I politely answer his questions and ask after his health. It is when I sit in that dental chair and he puts on his mask and eye shield that the mutual hate society begins.
It stems from the fact that I have a small mouth. (Hey, no snickers or nasty comments from the peanut gallery!) I do! My jaw can only open so wide and my teeth are all sort of close together. Suffice it to say, it is not only my sensitive gag reflex that would prevent me from being a successful gay guy. Anyway, I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, small mouth.
Many times I wish I could unhinge my jaw, leave it there for the dentist work on and come back later and pick it up. At the very least, I wish the dentist would knock me out with some high-grade anesthesia. I think it would make life easier for both of us.
I understand that his goal is to get in there and get his work done; however, I cannot keep my mouth open or wide enough for him to accomplish that. It's neither of our faults, but it leads to a frustrating situation. The pain gets so bad if I try to keep my mouth open "wide" that tears seep out of my eyes, I get a monster headache and it takes everything that is within me not to leap out of that chair.
Luckily I have not had a cavity for several years...until my last visit. I had two small cavities in my molar. One word: excruciating.
At the end of the ordeal, my dentist pats me on the shoulder and says, "Good job." (See, he is nice.) I respond feelingly, "You, too." He laughed and said, "Good team work."
We are both glad that we won't have to see each other for another six months.
My intense dislike has nothing to do with my dentist as a person. He is a nice guy and thoughtfully asks about how my parents are doing and if I have been on any trips lately. I, too, am a nice enough person. I politely answer his questions and ask after his health. It is when I sit in that dental chair and he puts on his mask and eye shield that the mutual hate society begins.
It stems from the fact that I have a small mouth. (Hey, no snickers or nasty comments from the peanut gallery!) I do! My jaw can only open so wide and my teeth are all sort of close together. Suffice it to say, it is not only my sensitive gag reflex that would prevent me from being a successful gay guy. Anyway, I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, small mouth.
Many times I wish I could unhinge my jaw, leave it there for the dentist work on and come back later and pick it up. At the very least, I wish the dentist would knock me out with some high-grade anesthesia. I think it would make life easier for both of us.
I understand that his goal is to get in there and get his work done; however, I cannot keep my mouth open or wide enough for him to accomplish that. It's neither of our faults, but it leads to a frustrating situation. The pain gets so bad if I try to keep my mouth open "wide" that tears seep out of my eyes, I get a monster headache and it takes everything that is within me not to leap out of that chair.
Luckily I have not had a cavity for several years...until my last visit. I had two small cavities in my molar. One word: excruciating.
At the end of the ordeal, my dentist pats me on the shoulder and says, "Good job." (See, he is nice.) I respond feelingly, "You, too." He laughed and said, "Good team work."
We are both glad that we won't have to see each other for another six months.
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