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01-18-2002 @ 9:46 p.m.
Boredom. Ennui. Dreams.

I am overcome by ennui. I spent the day trying to whip up some enthusiasm for something--anything--and I couldn't. I didn't want to go take pictures. I didn't want to go develop pictures. I didn't want to go pick up my Canon from the shop. I didn't want to finish the laundry. (Well, honestly, who does?) I didn't want to scrapbook. I didn't want to write. I didn't want to shop. (Well, I did but I have already exceeded my shopping budget for the month so I shall have to wait for February.) I didn't want to cook. I didn't want to even eat. I didn't want to call anyone. I just didn't want anything. I wanted to sleep. Check. I wanted to watch TV. Check. It's a very strange place to be. I can almost always think of something to do or some place to go. And when that fails, I've got projects to work on or people to call. But no, everything failed today. This is bad. Very bad.

I did want to go to the antique store near my house but I didn't think of it until after it was closed and then I couldn't stop thinking about that and it overshadowed everything else I could think of to do. It's like when you have a craving for a particular food but cannot have said food so nothing else appeals to you because of that.

I had the very weirdest dream I've had in ages. I think Freud could have had fun with it. Herein follows a description of that strange dream. I was in the waiting room of my daughter's pediatrician's office waiting to see her. (I really like my daughter's pediatrician and have often wished she could be my doctor, too.) While I was waiting, my period started, unbeknownst to me, and started in earnest so that blood was actually dripping down my pants leg into my shoes. I was tremendously embarrassed and tried to clean things up before going into her office. I tied my very long, heavy, wool coat around my waist to try to disguise the bloodstains. When I got into the office, it was more like an apartment than an examination room and there were many subcontractors there doing some remodeling. She was having a patio built on to the room for parties in the summer and we went outside and danced for a few minutes on the new patio. She danced in this really wild 80s style and I suggested that when the weather warmed up, she should have an 80s party and barbecue. She agreed that that would be a good idea. Then we went inside and there were even more people, all crowded around us. I wanted so desperately to talk to her and the people wouldn't leave. There was an assistant in the room, too, writing down everything I said. I kept waiting for her to ask them to leave and when she didn't, I finally made everyone leave. The assistant wouldn't leave but I bullied her out of there. When I tried to talk, though, I found that I couldn't really talk clearly because I had a big, giant wad of gum in my mouth. I excused myself briefly to take it out and when I opened my mouth, it was in there again. (I sleep with a night guard in my mouth and I was likely trying to get it out of my mouth while I was dreaming--this has appeared in other dreams, too.) I decided that I would just have to talk around the gum. I gave her an update on Joey, since she is the pediatrician and all, and then I said I wanted to talk to her about me. I was crying and telling her how depressed I had been lately and asking her for help. I was just weeping and hugging her saying that I needed help. "Just help me, please." It was full of pathos and drama. She told me that she couldn't help me and recommended a doctor at her clinic who treated adults. That was when I woke up. I had been crying in my sleep.

Boy, if you believe anything they say about dream analysis, I need some help, Baby. What's up with that, huh? Going to see a pediatrician instead of my regular doctor? Bleeding heavily? Begging for help for depression? Not being able to get away from nosy people? Not being able to communicate clearly? So strange.

Joey reached her goal of selling 100 boxes of Girl Scout cookies. Actually, she's at 104. Yay. We're done!! Ok, we can still sell a few more if we want to but we're done, baby. Of course, just as we reach that goal, we get a notice in Backpack Mail that the school's chocolate sale begins soon. No way. We're not tapping friends again. I will make a cash donation to the school in Joey's name so she's eligible for the prize drawings. I'd rather do that, anyway.

I'm still bored.

--L

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