I'm Coming Up Cat Sized

SO MANY THINGS happened since last week.

For one, I saw Grace Jones perform. It was literally perfect. I almost can't get into it.

Also it was Halloween.

Most importantly, Hurricane Sandy came and tore up Eastern Seaboard. I'm totally fine, working at my job from a location in Brooklyn. All kinds of fun things I had been planning are rescheduled or postponed. I'm really frustrated. There's no subway service. None of this is new. I'm just saying: how different the world can be within a week. Your own (my) world.

Really though, the Grace Jones show almost makes it worth it.

On Tuesday night, I met up with Erin and Thee Irish Horse. We went to a bar in Greenpoint and then their apartment. Irish Horse made vegan pudding out of coconut milk and chia seeds, and baked brownies. We split a bottle of red wine. We watched Woman Under The Influence and it really upset and inspired me, the way that any halfway serious or decent depiction of mental illness does. For some reason, I thought the movie was going to be about a glamorous housewife's existential ennui, and I imagined that she would find herself liberated through sex.

I thought that the movie was going to be similar in theme and scope to Fear of Flying. It wasn't, really. I was really identifying with the main female character, long past the point where her sanity is called into question. And then before I know it, I feel like I am also a crazy person. I wonder if, on some level, that's the point of art (of this art). What a shitty point to make-- to make people feel bad. It made me sad, I guess, but I liked hanging out and the pudding was so good.

Then last light, PLD and my show as B0DYH1GH at CultureFix was canceled because the Lower East Side is still without electricity (and a subway system). We went to go see Jess Pap's band Heaven's Gate perform as part of the Punk Rock cover band show at Death by Audio. They were performing as Joy Division, and they were so great!

It was really surreal to be at a punk rock show, with people dressed up in costumes. Two tough guys in fake blood and devil-locks and sort of zombie outfits dancing while the Joy Division set happened. Jess wore a noose and sang in a deep voice like Ian Curtis'. All of a sudden the tough guys started moshing, and it reminded me of the way skinheads and nazi punks used to mosh to Joy Division. But then a tough byrd girl (look it up) in a French Maid outfit jumped into the pit. The crowd went wild. it was surreal. I was afraid I'd get hurt. I'm always scared of that.

Today I'm back to work. I'm having to reschedule and worry about so many things at once. I'm pretty bummed out about it today. I'm gonna hang out with Jiddy No-No after work though, so that'll be fun. She has a dog, but it's basically a cat-shaped/cat-sized dog.

I've been struggling with my Analyst. He called on Tuesday to say that we're canceling our session this week. I was nonchalant on the phone, and now I'm sad that we won't get to meet. We've been talking a lot about dreams. I almost never ever remember my dreams. For a long time this was by design: the only dreams I remembered were nightmares, and I would rather not know about those, so I didn't care about not remembering my dreams. But lately a number of things have happened or are beginning to happen (or have stopped happening) which made me think that I needed to be remembering my dreams.

After careful and thorough discussion with my Analyst about the fact that I can't remember my dreams, and am only sort of partially interested in remembering them, he told me that he could help me remember my dreams, that there were things he could direct me to do in the hope of remembering them.

But he's not going to tell me what these things are. Because he's not convinced that I'm ready to start remembering my dreams.

Maybe that's supposed to be some kind of reverse psychology but I didn't argue with him. Maybe I'm not ready, okay. Fine. In any case, I happen to know that one of the things you do if you want to remember your dreams (assuming you do want to remember your dreams, assuming that your dreams are beautiful and rich and not a series of horrible nightmares), is to keep a dream journal. Jiddy No-No recently got me a cute little notebook with a kitty cat on the cover (a kitty cat shooting lazers from their eyes). And I am keeping it on my bedside table with a green ink pen to write down my dreams, when I think to remember them.

I have two entries so far:

- "I am walking down the street and people are mad at me". That's as much as I remember of a dream I had a few weeks ago, and about as much as I care to remember. Yikes!

- But then last night I had another dream. Last night I had a dream that I was out with some friends of mine, getting into trouble. I don't remember what. But they were walking me home, and as we turned the corner to my street, I saw many trucks gathered around my apartment building. It was on fire. This is something I've often fantasized about. Someone outside (my friend departed) told me that there was no one inside, that no one was hurt. Or, actually, they revised their statement to say there was only a cat inside. Only the kitty. The cat was dangling from my room by it's claws, and then it fell. It scampered away across the street, and the crowd around my apartment took this to mean that the cat wasn't injured, but I knew better. I ran after the cat and found it across the street, where it had limped to a hiding spot underneath a car. No one seemed to care about the cat.

I picked it up and the cat was meowing frantically. It's back leg had been severed. It wasn't bleeding or gross, but it was apparent that the cat was very badly (if not mortally), injured. I was carrying it and listening to it cry and was really upset. I knew I had to take it to the hospital. Luckily there's one near my house I ran, cradling the 3-legged meowling cat. The vet's office near my house was closed.  I was filled with panic and the idea to simply abandon the cat occurred to me, but I envisioned it dying in the street, and the feeling of my heart breaking, anxiety and being the bearer and sole witness of the precious creature's pain and demise overwhelmed me.

I woke up. My apartment was unheated and freezing cold. My left arm was in terrible burning pain, I guess a mosquito bit my left elbow. I woke up shivering and scratching and very very sad. I thought about going to back to sleep. It was 4:19am. Instead, I wrote down the nightmare in my dream journal, in halting, scribbled all caps.

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