(4/1/07) jealous about R's big space; i do have dreams like this!

(Entered in paper journal at 8:35 AM at Heights Coffee in Brooklyn.)

Dream 1

I went upstairs to R's house after he asked me to get something for him. When I got upstairs I saw that he had cleared out a whole huge area of floor outside his apartment. It was made to look like a cafe.

I knew now that R had sent me upstairs just so I would see his space like this and get jealous that he had so much space. The space was huge, and I couldn't figure how he had had so much unused space before.

There were three sections -- one was more like a nice dining room like in a nice, upper-class house. There was gentle, white light from that area. It curved left up into the room where I was, the cafe-style room, which had nice tables, all with white linen tablecloths and possibly even glass-vased flower centerpieces. There was no light in this area; the only light came from the other two areas.

I walked to the back area, which either curved left or right, also curving off into another unlit area where I did not go. The third area was like a nice kitchen. It was like a restaurant kitchen somehow, like it had been used to cook food for some big celebration in the cafe area.

There were a lot of counters separate from one another. Some had empty champagne bottles on them. Others had empty or partially empty, white plastic trays on them. Some of the trays had a dark pink, syrupy substance on them, like from candied apple slices my mom used to make. I felt like R had also wanted me to see this -- that he had had a big party to which I hadn't been invited.

Dream 2

I might have been in my psychiatrist's office. I was excited about some dream, but as I was telling her about it (I feel there was something about "Greek" in it) I lost concentration -- like when I'm half asleep and I try to recall my dreams and then they turn into even more surreal reveries -- except just the feeling of that, with no words.

In the midst of a greyness getting darker toward the center I saw a shape like a fetus.

My psychiatrist said, "You're making this up. Nobody dreams like this."

I stood outside, on a busy (Lower East Side?) street corner (or possibly even in the street, with the sidewalk to my left), talking into a payphone, which I held to my left ear.

I looked down to a maroon car like a wide station wagon. The exterior and the interior (?) were both maroon. Some of the doors were open. Kids were climbing in and out. The interior didn't look particularly dirty, but it somehow felt dirty or tacky. There might also have been garbage around the outside of the car.

I yelled into the payphone, "I do have dreams like this! I don't make them up. I'm tired of you thinking none of this is real or important!"

I yelled even louder (although I had to struggle at it: I was embarrassed at being such a spectacle in front of so many (black?) people), "You are a dumb bitch! Don't call yourself a Jungian! You can't call yourself a Jungian unless you understand the importance of dreams!"