Astral Dream Boots?

“It’s been such a long time, I think I should be going…”

That song has been in my head all frikkin day, so I had to pop Boston into the CD player for some tunes while I write this, let “Foreplay/Longtime” cycle repeat enough to irritate my neighbors.

I can’t get those traveling boots out of my head.

Maybe I could sketch them up? If I draw them, maybe I could find someone to make them, but damn, that could cost an easy two grand. Maybe more and I can’t even afford a frikkin set of 120 Faber-Castell Polychromos in the TIN box at Dick Blick.

I liked the way I felt wearing those boots in the dream. I love how they felt on me, how they looked so artsy and bohemian that they literally defined the terms.

I could walk into the unknown wearing those boots, self assurred and confident, filled with a knowing that everything is fine.

After describing the boots to Jai and Dee (a.k.a. Lady Feri from Illinois) when they popped in for a visit today, Dee suggested they might be astral travel boots.

Logic me says nah… I’ve also vetoed 99% of boot dream explanations found online as the only definition that echo how I felt wearing them included “self assured” and “confident” words. There are too many variations of boot styles for one cookie cutter meaning. These were not farm boots, work boots, rain boots, combat or even cowboyish… they were so artsy, devinely scrunched and richly textured with kind of a long haired multi-shades of dark not exactly cat fur trim curved above the knee, maybe a sable or something? They were way cooler than anything I’ve ever seen.

I think it has a lot more to say about my state of mind under current circumstances than anything else.

I feel a change season coming. It’s not here yet so I have no idea what the future holds, but it is coming. It is like when you smell rain coming before the clouds roll in, before the first drop splats.

Maybe it is just awareness of life already changing.

My only child is 29 years old today and totally doing the adult thing… she is not relying on me for anything anymore. That’s totally cool, the way it should be. It kind of amazes me and gives me a post-empty-nest thing at the same time. I’ve been playing safety net as she struggled to learn how to make it on her own for so long that it feels odd not to, but she is a strong, capable woman now with a good man beside her so that phase of my life is over.

If I had the means, I could travel. Traveling in the dream without luggage does remind me of an old “if I ever hit the lottery” fantasy of walking into an airport without telling anyone, carrying nothing but a handbag slung on my shoulder, and picking a destination of the board just to go watch the sunrise someplace else. I can see myself doing that wearing those artsy bohemian traveling boots.

Now I’m just dreaming out loud.

Tell Me (art)

This art inspired the poem, but does not visually go with the poem. Or rather, the inspiration for the poem was the words on this art combined with last night’s dream…

If I were a person of unlimited means, I would be shopping for a shoemaker to recreate the oh so fabulous traveling boots worn in the dream as those boots were so fine, an unusual design, seemed to go on forever, made of the best and trimmed in an exotic fur above the knees, definately not cheap boots and like something I have never seen. And they were called “traveling boots” in the dream, the pair I put on to leave. My sister took my other boots, also an unusual pair of very nice tall boots, and put them next to the bed of a man I love and we had words about it as that was not fair to him. Leaving my boots by his bed was like staking a claim, kind of like a cat marking her territory to ward off other cats, and I could not do that to him. So I snuck into his room and silently retrieved the boots while he was making love to another woman, which was weird to dream about but oddly, I only felt saddened, not jealous.

I don’t know what happened to that other pair of boots as dreams tend to omit things, flips to new scene, and I’m still wearing the traveling boots and carrying just a leather handbag (no baggage) as I hop a train.

I really liked those traveling boots, and not only because they looked so grand on me. They made me feel so confident and I could move with ease, as if freed of all disability. Maybe they are magical?

As for the art, they are gouche paintings, each 2.5×3.5 inches cut from a painting done just puttering around while babysitting my infant grandson and his 8 year old uncle over the weekend. (Sounds complicated? Nah, it just make me a young step-great-grandmother by future marriage.) The 8 year old loves art, so we broke out the gouche. The words were later added with Polychromos.

Thanks for reading this blog and viewing my art!

If you are into dreams, do boots mean anything?


Reality Check Sunday

I slept hard, slept in, and slowly awoke in the midst of a bingeing nightmare.

I have not mentioned binge eating disorder for awhile because I did not want to write about it, didn’t even want to think about it. So much for avoidance.

In the dream, I was bingeing on sugar, a homemade concoction of a creamy nougat center coated with caramel and pecans (later peanuts, when pecans became too exspensive to keep up with me) and double dipped in chocolate. They were shaped like gourmet easter eggs and my sister was making them for a wedding. She needed hundreds to serve all the guests, but I was sneaking them by the handfuls. She resorted to hiding batches all over the church and I was still eating them, hunting them like easter eggs and gobbling them up for the mind numbing sugar high. By the end of the dream, the candies were individually wrapped and boxed in attempts to slow me down, but only long enough to rip each open.

Oh yes, definately a nightmare. Yet thinking about it later, I realized what was missing… the dream lacked guilt, remorse, and shame. It also lacked that sicky thing that comes with a real life sugar high binge. (Anyone who thinks it is impossible to experience a sugar high has never consumed enough to get there. Most people, I assume, get sick enough to stop before the numb rush kicks in. Suppose that sick thing is body rebellion trying to make you stop before serious harm occurs as it can’t be healthy to mess with glucose levels or whatever physiology is going on.)

So, that was an odd dream… but dreaming it reminded me that avoidance is not the best way to deal with anything. Avoidance is just a temporary escape from reality.

At the same time, I don’t want to become obcessed with recovery from binge eating disorder as that is almost as bad as being obcessed with binge foods. I don’t want to have to think about it. I want “not an option” to become “not an issue” someday.

In all honesty, I am not quite there yet. I have become quite adapt at stopping binges in the early stages, but I’m skirting the edge, walking the fence, and crossing over the line a little too often. And the scales, the undeniable means to check reality, prove that with stagnation. If bingeing, I gain weight… if not, I lose.

It has been exactly one month since I stepped on the digital scales for a precise number, as I weighed myself at home before going to the doctors on March 28th, and the number is only two pounds less… which doesn’t count as a lost as it is “normal” to fluctuate up and down a couple pounds. I weigh the same.

Okay, maybe the body “reaches a plateau” between loses but I know the reason has more to do with number of times I’ve had to stop myself from bingeing and yes, I can lie to myself with words like “progress not perfection” which I know is total bull. That’s like saying it is okay to stop yourself from chopping off your fingers after your hand is a bloody mess. It is much better to just not do that in the first place.

Since I have the tendency to use avoidance, maybe I need to scheduale a weekly weighing as a reality check. If I use the spring scales (shown below) instead of the digital, then (maybe) I won’t become obcessed with the actual number down to the tenth, thus limiting possible personal judgement to a simple okay or not okay. All I know is avoidance is not cutting it.

As for the pencils on the scale? Ah, that is the other thing I need to do this week, narrow down my dick blick wish list and order pencils to replace some stubs. Thanks for reading!
~ Nancy