I officially have Brit-pop hair.
Speaking of Brit-pop hair, what was that Charlatans song? “Jesus Hairdo”. Yeah. And Beck sings “Devil’s Haircut”. Isn’t there an earthly medium?
Speaking of Charlatans, those slackers have a new album out May 17th.
Speaking of slackers, both Death Cab for Cutie shows are this week. (commence pants-pissing)
Speaking of Death, I had some sincerely disturbing dreams last night. Always, always animal dreams.
I must tell you that for the first time in roughly 15 years, I have reconciled the parakeet dream. Along with trains, it’s been a recurring nightmare most of my life and the parakeets appear at least once a week. I’m always killing them inadvertently by squishing them or tearing their heads off or drowning them. I always wake up in a panic, filled with guilt. There are less violent ways of doing away with them, such as starving them to death. In the starving version, my hands are missing and I can see the empty seed cup in the cage but it’s impossible to get it. I keep trying to put more seed in but I can’t hold the bag and it all spills on the floor. The birds die a long, painful death and I watch.
Not too long ago, I had the final parakeet dream. It was one of those dreams with a cast of characters and a plot, broken up into individual acts. Scene One: Maternally-Induced Guilt. Scene Two: Fear of Rejection. Scene Three: Shame of Sordid Past. And so on.
The Maternally-Induced Guilt scene was bloody. I accidentally left the front door open, and the neighbors wolfhound broke into our house and attacked my mom and my sister. My mother took out a rifle and beat the crap out of the dog with the end of it, shoving the door closed. (As a side note, when I was growing up, my mom actually kept a BB gun in the garage. She used it to shoot this Scottish Terrier in the ass because he tried to bite me whenever I was getting on the school bus.)
In the next scene, I was in my room and I knew my ex-boyfriend was coming over. He was one of the Eternal Boys — those I will always be drop-dead attracted to no matter how much time has passed — 6’3″, blond, Greekgod body, translucent blue eyes, total Abercrombie and Fitch model. Ugh. I broke him in before he realized he was good looking — I think he was 15. So over the past twelve years we’ve been in varying states of contact — he’ll show up at my apartment unannounced and we’ll stay in my bedroom for a week and then he’ll leave. So the dream was a total rejection of that relationship, because I was putting on red lace lingerie in preparation for his arrival and then when he showed up, I was all, “Fuck you, you inhumanly beautiful devil. I’m not that person anymore. Out of my house!”
In the dream, my sister had a baby. It was at this point that my sister’s baby started climbing up the stairs. We had hardwood floors, so the ascent could be unlucky. The kid could barely crawl but it was climbing up the railing of the staircase.
Enter Soleil, my bright yellow parakeet. She swooped down from the rafters and then back up. I couldn’t see her, I could only hear her flying back and forth, thumping into the walls, and I saw the ceiling fan on and the window thrown open to the wind. Panicked, I turned around to see a little girl with her arm outstretched.
Soleil flew down carefully and landed lightly on her hand. “It’s okay — I’ve got her,” she said quietly, smiling. She looked exactly like I did as a child. I was looking at myself.
My attention was turned back to the climbing baby, which promptly fell and cracked its skull open on the wooden stairs. I jumped to catch it, but I wasn’t fast enough, and instantly felt the guilt.
The little girl passed the parakeet onto my hand, smiled, and said, “That one didn’t have wings.”
* * *
In my dream last night I got in the back of a pick up truck with a dozen identical dogs — Springer Spaniels like my friends’ dog Sam. All the dogs had the same markings and the same dour expressions. We were headed somewhere awful, and they knew it.
The truck stopped at the edge of the woods and the back opened. The dogs filed out one by one and stopped, lowering their heads. I looked before us and there was a metal pipe a hundred feet long with dogs tied so close that their heads were resting against one another on the pipe. The Springer Spaniels accepted their fate and I looked down the row of dogs in dozens of matching groups. I still wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but then I saw the giant sliding double-blade at one end of the pipe. I realized that all these dogs’ heads were going to be violently chopped off. They knew it. And they accepted it. They were the dogs from the Humane Society that didn’t get adopted. And I couldn’t save them all.
Oh my god. It was so awful I can’t even put it into words. But I’ve become very absorbed in the world of animal welfare, and signing up for a volunteer position as writer/web designer at the Washington animal society. Though totally off base, this dream was a reality check; the animals that aren’t loved enough are euthanized. It’s one of those dreams that’s so vivid it’s going to sit in my stomach all day as though it actually happened.
But at least I have the parakeet dream under control. I honestly think that dream was some sort of marker for my mental health. Though if last night’s dream was a marker for my mental health…
I’m frightened that I’ve exposed too much of my warped mind. Forgive me. Please go save an animal ASAP.