when i was probably 20 or so, there was a year long period where i got really into the whole palm reading/tarot cards/dream analyzation trend. it was all in all pretty cliche and commercialized, i picked up all my "kits" and books from the borders' sales racks, but it killed the time and usually got people to talk to me about their personal secrets. so it was interesting, to say the least.
i haven't read one of my de-stressing analytical hippie jargon books in quite some time. i kind of wish i remembered how to do all that shit. or maybe i don't. last night i certainly had a string of interesting dreams. typically, when i wake up, especially after a night of drinking, i can't remember a single dream. but last night/this morning, i was more than relieved to be awoken at 9:30 by a friend's text message. it was one of those dreams where i knew i could wake up at any time, but it was like watching a movie. i wanted to find out the ending. except, this movie was about my life.
i only remember two in clear enough detail to ramble about here, but the first one, albeit very brief, had something to do with president obama resigning his position. he didn't feel he was "up for the role" and was disappointed in his progress/lack thereof. now, see this is strange to me. because i'm admittedly one of the most politically apathetic sonsofbitches you'll meet. while i appreciate jon stewart, i think the daily show is boring, mostly b/c i'm so out of tune with our nation's going-ons, that i don't get the jokes or know what he's talking about. i'm not passionate about the economy or healthcare, even though i'm currently being affected myself. i don't give a shit about national speeches or new laws, the only halfway political theme i've followed in the past few years is the whole gay-marriage ban. proposition 8. awesome. so we're at a place in time where everything is instantly gratified online, american idol is the biggest news maker, and animals are toilet trained. but gays getting married! NO WAY I DON'T WANT ANY HOMOS RUBBING OFF ON ME!!! jesus christ. talk about prehistoric. but whatever, now i'm too tired to even pay attention to any progress there. i'll vote when i need to, don't get me wrong. but politics bore me. end of story.
so to have a dream where the president up right quits? if this ever came true, i'd probably find out two days later on perez hilton. that's how out of touch i am with things. but the dream was more of an afterthought. i think i was at a bar, maybe even big joe's, where i was last night. and the tv ran a story about obama's resignation. and all the hick townies were hootin' and hollerin', calling him derogatory racial slurs, good riddance'in, etc. i remember feeling a slight pit of disappointment, but then nonchallantly ordering another pitcher of beer.
that was dream one. rad, right?if i were to take a stab at deciphering that one now, i'd prob credit it to something to do with my unemployment status and how i'm now another statistic, number in the nation's census. just another figure affected by our current financial crisis, state of ruin. but then again, maybe it was just b/c i was drunk when i passed out. who knows.
transition to dream two. this is where shit got weird.
anybody who's known me for a bit is probably aware of my daddy story, or lack thereof i guess you could say. so i don't completely bore everyone with the whole lifetime original tale now, i'll give the condensed version. i grew up with a single mom. no dad. no questions about dad allowed. not until i turned 18. week before 18th bday/highschool graduation, mom gets letter in mail from "dad." he found out about me. met me. made me take a paternity test. turned negative. "mom what the H?" "it's him. faulty test, better off without hinm in your life." five years later, father's day. on couch in living room in chicago. log onto myspace. get a msg from "dad" asking if i'm "jodi robin root from argyle". what the fuck. long story short, 2nd paternity test - negative again. "mom what the fuck?" "i don't know what to tell you, jodi." one time i got her drunk and she confessed that it could have been "the short blonde guy." i'm taller than my mother and half-brother. i'm not blonde. i don't know how that could work out. basically, whatever. mom didn't have an abortion. she partied a lot but still kept me and raised me alright. i'm ok with this. but do i have questions? good god, yes. i don't intend on ever having my own family, but who knows, maybe someday i will. at that point i'd like to know my family health history. i'd like to know my heritage. as gratifying as checking "white/caucasian" on all personal paperwork is, i'd like to know where the fuck my genes come from. have i ever boned a cousin/brother? that'd be hella creepy. do i have siblings? aunts/uncles/grandparents? maybe, probably. but i'll never know them.
the second paternity test was now 3-4 years ago. i've pretty much moved on and dont think about it. i mean, what's the point? but this dream really got me thinking again. . .
in my dream i had found out somehow, that my father was alive and did know about me. his name was "andy" or "andrew". he was french. i was half french. when i'd ask my mom she'd get extremely upset and curse him. i had to go through my brother, who was 14 around the time of my conception, and get details from him regarding her ex-bf at the time. he wasn't a fan either, but introduced me to the dude's sister, my aunt. she resembled a frizzy haired, creepy, haggard witch kind of woman who wore way too much cheap eyeliner. "your dad's dead." she coughed. "drug overdose." so here i was, with a newfound father, but he had died after all. and i was french. and my mom was so angered she wouldn't speak to me.
i don't get it. the dream itself - why i was subconsciously thinking about the father issue, and how the hell my dreamworld linked me to being a frenchie. if i had to guess by looking at myself, i'd say it's pretty clear i'm irish/german. my mom has a bit of both in her blood, as well as english heritage and a smidgeon of pennsylvanian dutch which i'm way too embarrassed to ever admit out loud (penn dutch = ammish. sick, right?) strange how i'll gleefly brag/boast my connection to serial killer ed gein and how he fed my mom's first cousins "venison" and "hamburger" when he would babysit them regularly. but the idea of me being related to a crusty sick ammish person leaves me dry heaving. the horror. . .
as i lay here in bed, i'm regretting falling asleep last night period. the daddy dream left me a bit shook up and unsettled, even though obviously it changes nothing. but the unanswered questions have yet again, surfaced into my thinking. and i wish my mom would just talk to me. tell me, straight up and admit it. i know she was doing a lot of drugs. i know her lifestyle wasn't conventional. i've figured it out that i'm a result of an unprotected one night stand. i just wish she could tell me that. i've certainly had my share of one night affairs in which pregnancy would obviously fuck up everything - but i find it so hard to believe that she is unable to track down the sperm donor even enough to recollect what he looks like. or where she met him. names, i can't even tell you the last 20 dudes i've kissed, so i get that, but . . . man.
so i guess i'm glad i can't analyze this dream. cuz it would probably just really bum me out. but the tarot cards. . . that could be amusing. maybe it's time to revisit my local border's. rack up some income being a crazy with a crystal ball on the cta.
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