Insecure Writers Support Group 5 July 2023

 

Image by Anja from Pixabay

July 5 question - 99% of my story ideas come from dreams. Where do yours predominantly come from?

Doubts. Fears. Movies. Songs. Stories. Television programs (The Twilight Zone was a big inspiration for me.) Trauma. Nightmares.

I wrote a poem about this very subject, which was published in an anthology called Soul Ink on June 23 of this year. You can read it here if you're so inclined.

https://poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com/2023/06/soul-ink-is-here-8sunday-snipsun.html

Here's a humdinger of a dream that I had last night. Being lost and needing to get somewhere is one of my recurring dreams. Also, I was highly anxious about a dental appointment to replace a filling that had come loose. I got through it, but when I say nervous, I don't mean a little jittery. I mean Defcon 5-level threat of a panic attack. I took a 5 MG Valium tablet before the appointment. It did nothing more than slightly reduce my blood pressure. 

For those of you who are sensitive about salty language, you might want to give this part of the post a miss. There is also a brief discussion of third-degree sexual assault without any graphic descriptions.

I dreamed I was lost and trying to find my car so I could take it to the mechanic. For reasons unknown, I had parked it and then wandered to a woman’s office. She may have been a lawyer, but I’m not entirely sure. A cop came in behind me.

As I was walking down the steps, a group of children hurried over and started playing on them. The steps were old, and the concrete had gone cattywampus. I said “Excuse me” as I made my way past. There was a little dark-haired girl watching me disdainfully, and I suspected she might say something rude. I wasn’t disappointed.

“Why do you have to be obese?” she demanded.

“Oh shut up, you stupid child,” I shot back, far more aggravated at having to deal with her snotty attitude and the precarious trip down the crumbling stairs than ashamed of my body. My reaction is actually a breakthrough, but I was too anxious and irritated to appreciate it.

I was having a hell of a time finding my car. A heavyset Latino fellow, probably in his late 20s or early to mid-thirties offered to help, but he ended up perving on me, putting his arms around me and grinding his groin against my backside. I told him I didn’t need his help and ordered him away from me. He called me a bitch and left.

I was going to say I didn’t know anyone who fits this description, but then I realized I did. When I was working at the local McChoke and Puke at 16 years old, there was an assistant manager who liked to make time with the high school girls. I gave him a ride home one night, and he proceeded to grope me. This was doubly creepy as he was dating one of my friends.

In the dream I thought to myself, this must be what it felt like to have dementia. I was lost and couldn’t remember the streets I’d been down. (Hell, in real life I get lost in parking lots if I don’t manage to park close to the store!) I needed to get to my car if I was going to get it to the mechanic before the shop closed.

I woke up feeling a nervous wreck.

I have been having a lot of repressed memories break through this month. On the upside, if I remember it I can deal with it. On the downside, this is shit I really didn’t want to remember.

Image by Angela Yuriko Smith from Pixabay

Repressed memories are like the Whizzo Quality Assortment. You never know what kind of nasty surprise you're going to get next.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

Image by Ulrich B. from Pixabay

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