Dreams, eh ? They’re something I rarely remember. I’ll often have the vague memory that I must have dreamed before awakening yet almost never recall what it was. So it was a bit of a surprise the other week to have a dream I could vividly recall at the time and even now have some of the imagery.
I’d been invited to dinner by a boss of some 30 years ago. Why ? I don’t know, as I grew to loathe him enough to seek a new job. The dinner was some kind of large fondue in the middle of the dining table.
When it came time to pull the meat out of the fondue, it was human. I ended up with a shin, ankle and foot. It was very tasty, I seem to recall.
What that all means, I haven’t clue. It may have been a wakeup call from the sub-conscious realising that certain parts of social media have turned cannibalistic right now.
Hope springs eternal they say. Too often in recent times my response would be “what’s the fecking point ?” And it’s tempting to still think that way.
Many of the dreams I had when younger have been left in tatters by the events of life. I wondered about this and perhaps it was because so many of them were about hiding who I really am.
A month ago I was eagerly calculating how many more days (not years) before I could afford to retire. Events have a nasty habit of catching up with such dreams and it’s obvious that such a retirement is now delayed by several years.
As for hope. Does it spring eternal ? Not if the depression is having fun running rampage through your skull. But you do emerge and a sunny day with the scent of newly emerged wild flowers can bring it back.
Of course I’d hope to have the time, courage and freedom to be able to fully transition. Like many trans people there seems to come a time when this becomes a monomania. I’m not there yet, though so much surrounding articles of hope ultimately comes back to this one overriding hope. I’m not sure that I’d actually call this a dream, body dysmorphia aside, I do see what friends mean when they say that with some work and care I could pass now. For it to be still a dream I’d be back to old days when I just knew that I would never be in a position to pass.
And perhaps this is the way dreams can come true, at least for me. Very slowly as circumstances change and ambitions in one sphere die, the flowering of a different me, the one that looked at the world from behind someone else’s eyes for so long.
If there is one good side to the current lockdown it is that I have time to experiment with looks. Especially hair. The other week someone said I looked particularly fresh-faced and different without them being able to put their finger on why. It was such a simple thing. No longer severely tieing my hair back for the office, it was instead, shaped to frame the face. That simple change in the way a few strands of hair were displayed ameliorated the harsher angular aspect of the face. Instead of looking hard to see the female in the face, it was suddenly harder to see the male.
Now that’s the sort of hope I can grasp and hang on to in times like these.