The Flood

A woman was sitting in her house, while a gigantic flood was raging outside. She was so thirsty, she hadn't touched water in so long, but if she opened her windows to the flood then her house would get destroyed and she might die. No matter: the flood was so strong that it broke through anyway. She expected it to come through the ceiling or the windows, but totally inexplicably it came through the floor. The house was destroyed, and she grabbed onto some debris to hopefully survive.

Houses in my dreams, three entries running. Houses are said to be symbols of the self. For me they are symbols of the self as it is constructed, at least in part consciously. I keep my sense of identity intact by smoking cigarettes, for one, but mostly through sexual stimulation. Without those things my hold on who I am breaks down, and I'm a victim to the uncontrolable flood of emotion, which I'm never really escaping, but only keeping at bay. I never really learned to deal with my emotions in a healthy way, and I constucted my "secure" identity by using external things, like drugs, food, cigarettes, sex. This is not a supportable system. If I get rid of these things, then I will be like a teenager again, going through the same process of figuring out who I am and how to interpret and react to what goes on inside of me. I remember that as a teenager I was constantly dreaming about oceans.

Well, at least my life isn't boring.

I just found out that there will probably be only morning hours available for me at work next quarter. I'm not too pleased about that.

Oh, and I've been thinking about my father alot lately, partially as a result of my dream of him a few days ago. He was a real jerk. I'm pretty angry at him.