Writing

The Nightmare Demon

I used to have this recurring nightmare for several years. I don’t remember when they first started, probably around 8 or 9. The basis of the dream was always the same: I was trying to escape from my house. Sometimes what was chasing me was an actual person who broke into the house, but most of the time it was a supernatural being, a demonic type monster who wanted to consume me. I would escape the house and run across the street to my neighbors house. I would knock fervently at the front door, sometimes on the side door by their garage. I’d feel a sense of panic, of time slowed down as I felt the monster chasing me.

And this is where the dream diverged each night. Sometimes the door would open and they would let me and I would run through the house screaming that I needed to hide and they needed to help me. I would run through the house and eventually I’d squeeze under the dresser drawers, but I could feel the monster coming closer to where I was hiding. Other nights I would dream that nobody answered the door and I would start running down the streets, trying to get as many blocks behind me as I could, but as with all dreams, no matter how hard I ran, I couldn’t get very far.

I never knew if I escaped from whatever it was because I would either wake up or the dream would morph back to the beginning and I would try to escape again. I had this nightmare up until I was 24 when I got my license. Maybe I was feeling trapped in my own home and didn’t know how to get out and having a license soothed that unconscious feeling for me, but it doesn’t explain why I had the dream for so long and at such a young age.

I don’t have a lot of dreams but when I do, I get really strange dreams like this. They are either so odd or so scary that they are burned in my memory. If dreams are our way of working out our thoughts and feelings, I don’t want to know what my feelings are that cause certain dreams.

Whatever the reason is, I certain don’t like waking in panic over a nightmare demon.

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Writing

On Writing and the Expectations of Women.

There are people who write on a regular basis. I want to know their secret. Do they plan their posts out and schedule them, or do they write them as they go along? It’s always interesting to me that people can write long interesting posts on the fly and make it look like they knew what they were going to write the whole time. I’m jealous of those kinds of people.

The big advice that I know is to never force a topic. It doesn’t matter how trendy the topic is or how much I want to write about that particular topic, if I’m not feeling the topic, then it’s not going to come out on the page. I’ve tried to structure ideas like an essay but it always falls to pieces. Kinda like politics. (I should be sorry about that last line, but I’m not.)

There’s a topic that I’ve been wanting to write about for a long time, but it’s so abstract that I don’t think it will ever come to fruition. The premise of the topic is “the expectation of women.” It seems like we grow up as a society with certain stereotypes and expectations and as we grow older, they mostly solidify or evolve into other predictable expectations. For example, the popular girls seem to run around with the same people and have the same “basic” interests and crafty things to sell. Perhaps I’m too stereotypical myself and only see the sides that have always been shown to me, but I don’t know. The perfect girls with the perfect life.

And then when you’re an adult, it seems like women are expected to get married, have kids, have the perfect house and if you’re really ambitious, have the perfect career. It seems that everything eventually cracks because you can’t keep everything up. Something falls by the wayside.

These are partial thoughts and ideas, of course. There may be people who disagree with my concepts. But maybe that’s the whole point: We only show one side of ourselves to the world outside, the side that everybody else to see and then we start feeling frustrated when we stereotype them. Perhaps if we become more authentic and truly let ourselves be ourselves and not just certain sides, then people like me won’t have to make those assumptions.

Am I odd? I don’t know. Will I make a whole post dedicated to meditating on the expectations of women? Probably not; I don’t have enough material to write about it. My fragments can only be just that: fragments.

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