Have to start by saying that I am distinctly annoyed with myself today for not having written down my dreams as soon as I woke up this morning as I usually do, as I remember having quite a few interesting ones last night, which apart from the one below I now for the life of me can't recall... Must exercise better discipline in future!
That said, at least the single one I did remember for once actually varied this time from my usual formulaic mum / dad / brother / school theme (just writing this blog has now made me rather self-consciously aware of the recurrently retrospective nature of my subconscious), in that it actually for once a) looked forward and not back and b) finally featured my real-life other half - hitherto conspicuous only by his absence from the vast majority of my nocturnal recollections so far...
Could my boyfriend's notable nocturnal absenteeism to date be due to my feeling so secure in the relationship that my normally turbulent subconscious does not actually need to thrash out any un-worked through emotions where he's concerned in my sleep, I wonder? (Which is more than I can say for the rest of my family, apparently.) Or does David occupy so much of my waking thought that my nocturnal mind is - quite frankly - simply sick of the subject? Or is my subconscious just so determinedly past-orientated that it has little to no place left over in order to contemplate my future?? On the other hand maybe, with boyfriend living in one country and me in another, it is simply a case of "out of sight out of (subliminal) mind"... In fact, over the course of this (admittedly still rather short-lived) blog, I think I've dreamed more about fantasy boyfriend Robert Pattinson than I have done my real-life one (and even two of those occurred when he was actually sleeping next to me...).
Breaking the mold last night, however, I dreamt David was accompanying me as I embarked on a second Year Abroad - this time in France (as opposed to my initial real-life one in Germany), an obvious reflection of my recent ummings and ahhings as to whether to one day do a Masters on the Continent or not. In the dream David was basically just escorting me as I arrived in a très joli, typically gaullic, medieval little town - just the type of place the Europhile in me absolutely adores. Together we moved into my pre-arranged digs (to my joy I found I was occupying the whole attic floor of a pretty, wood-beamed old house) and we started to unpack my things (including - notably - a collection of battered but most beloved antique books, which to my knowledge don't actually exist in real-life). Needless to say, at this point I was seriously excited about embarking on a new stage of my life and making the most of all la belle vie en France had to offer, but at the same time this sense of heady euphoria was still tinged with a very real sadness that David once again was only just helping me in setting up there, and would have to go back to the UK again for work within the next few days. The one small consolation in this respect lay in knowing that geographically speaking I was now that bit closer to him than I had been in Prague, so flights would at least be cheaper / shorter and the Eurostar readily on hand for getting him over to me more frequently at weekends than had previously been the case.
No sooner had he actually left though then the initial excitement suddenly faded, as all at once I felt myself lonely and adrift in the gaping attic of an unfamiliar house in a strange land, which now David had gone home no longer seemed to hold such anticipated promise and vibrance. To counteract the resultant depression, I first tried to draw comfort from my treasured collection of old books, only for the pages to start falling out in chunks from each and every tomb, forcing me to hurriedly put them back for their own protection (probably some obscure symbolism at play here). Soon after that my mood then took yet another drastic turn for the worse, as to my sheer and absolute horror I found out that the whole attic apartment was not in fact meant for me alone, but that the living room and kitchen also doubled up as a café for hoards of pontificating French studenty types in the day / evening, leaving me only my little bedroom and tiny en suite as a wholly inadequate refuge from both people (there being no lock on my dream bedroom door) and their resultant noise (my absolute pet hate in shared accommodation - in fact I still retain one selfish bastard cunt of an inconsiderate med student on my non-negotiable death list as a result of his incessant musical torment over my first year of university). Unsurprisingly enough, in my waking life I live blissfully alone in my quiet and cosy, mercifully people-free (apart from David on occasion) little studio - my own personal sanctuary from the madness that lies beyond the threshold...
So to cut a long story short, I don't really need Sigmund Freud here to tell me that all of the above is clearly just a noctural regurgitation of my long-standing waking dilemma as to my future country of abode... By no means is it an easy thing to be torn between a man you love residing in a country you hate, or a life without him in a continent you've loved since childhood and planned to build a life (and not just a four year hiatus). No surprise then that the emotions of the dream ran the whole same gauntlet (euphoria, bittersweetness, sadness, conflict, fear) as I experience on a pretty much daily basis in real life - ending as usual in the same old inertia and ambivalence as to what to do for the best... For now though it's just a case of taking things as they come and seeing where life takes us, which when it comes down to it is no more and no less than any of us can really ever do I guess - and in many ways I should really consider myself privileged that I'm even in the position (great boyfriend, amazing life abroad etc) to be presented with such a choice in the first place...
To wind up all this inner turmoil (waking and sleeping!) for now though, all I can say is that at this current moment I'm planning nothing more than to just enjoy a sunny Prague 2010 (and beyond...) for as long as I can, and the more of it spent with David visiting the better!!! :-)))
That said, at least the single one I did remember for once actually varied this time from my usual formulaic mum / dad / brother / school theme (just writing this blog has now made me rather self-consciously aware of the recurrently retrospective nature of my subconscious), in that it actually for once a) looked forward and not back and b) finally featured my real-life other half - hitherto conspicuous only by his absence from the vast majority of my nocturnal recollections so far...
Could my boyfriend's notable nocturnal absenteeism to date be due to my feeling so secure in the relationship that my normally turbulent subconscious does not actually need to thrash out any un-worked through emotions where he's concerned in my sleep, I wonder? (Which is more than I can say for the rest of my family, apparently.) Or does David occupy so much of my waking thought that my nocturnal mind is - quite frankly - simply sick of the subject? Or is my subconscious just so determinedly past-orientated that it has little to no place left over in order to contemplate my future?? On the other hand maybe, with boyfriend living in one country and me in another, it is simply a case of "out of sight out of (subliminal) mind"... In fact, over the course of this (admittedly still rather short-lived) blog, I think I've dreamed more about fantasy boyfriend Robert Pattinson than I have done my real-life one (and even two of those occurred when he was actually sleeping next to me...).
Breaking the mold last night, however, I dreamt David was accompanying me as I embarked on a second Year Abroad - this time in France (as opposed to my initial real-life one in Germany), an obvious reflection of my recent ummings and ahhings as to whether to one day do a Masters on the Continent or not. In the dream David was basically just escorting me as I arrived in a très joli, typically gaullic, medieval little town - just the type of place the Europhile in me absolutely adores. Together we moved into my pre-arranged digs (to my joy I found I was occupying the whole attic floor of a pretty, wood-beamed old house) and we started to unpack my things (including - notably - a collection of battered but most beloved antique books, which to my knowledge don't actually exist in real-life). Needless to say, at this point I was seriously excited about embarking on a new stage of my life and making the most of all la belle vie en France had to offer, but at the same time this sense of heady euphoria was still tinged with a very real sadness that David once again was only just helping me in setting up there, and would have to go back to the UK again for work within the next few days. The one small consolation in this respect lay in knowing that geographically speaking I was now that bit closer to him than I had been in Prague, so flights would at least be cheaper / shorter and the Eurostar readily on hand for getting him over to me more frequently at weekends than had previously been the case.
No sooner had he actually left though then the initial excitement suddenly faded, as all at once I felt myself lonely and adrift in the gaping attic of an unfamiliar house in a strange land, which now David had gone home no longer seemed to hold such anticipated promise and vibrance. To counteract the resultant depression, I first tried to draw comfort from my treasured collection of old books, only for the pages to start falling out in chunks from each and every tomb, forcing me to hurriedly put them back for their own protection (probably some obscure symbolism at play here). Soon after that my mood then took yet another drastic turn for the worse, as to my sheer and absolute horror I found out that the whole attic apartment was not in fact meant for me alone, but that the living room and kitchen also doubled up as a café for hoards of pontificating French studenty types in the day / evening, leaving me only my little bedroom and tiny en suite as a wholly inadequate refuge from both people (there being no lock on my dream bedroom door) and their resultant noise (my absolute pet hate in shared accommodation - in fact I still retain one selfish bastard cunt of an inconsiderate med student on my non-negotiable death list as a result of his incessant musical torment over my first year of university). Unsurprisingly enough, in my waking life I live blissfully alone in my quiet and cosy, mercifully people-free (apart from David on occasion) little studio - my own personal sanctuary from the madness that lies beyond the threshold...
So to cut a long story short, I don't really need Sigmund Freud here to tell me that all of the above is clearly just a noctural regurgitation of my long-standing waking dilemma as to my future country of abode... By no means is it an easy thing to be torn between a man you love residing in a country you hate, or a life without him in a continent you've loved since childhood and planned to build a life (and not just a four year hiatus). No surprise then that the emotions of the dream ran the whole same gauntlet (euphoria, bittersweetness, sadness, conflict, fear) as I experience on a pretty much daily basis in real life - ending as usual in the same old inertia and ambivalence as to what to do for the best... For now though it's just a case of taking things as they come and seeing where life takes us, which when it comes down to it is no more and no less than any of us can really ever do I guess - and in many ways I should really consider myself privileged that I'm even in the position (great boyfriend, amazing life abroad etc) to be presented with such a choice in the first place...
To wind up all this inner turmoil (waking and sleeping!) for now though, all I can say is that at this current moment I'm planning nothing more than to just enjoy a sunny Prague 2010 (and beyond...) for as long as I can, and the more of it spent with David visiting the better!!! :-)))
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