the habit of being

The starting point is one hotel, crazy mad and all business, save a room in the back where I swim with tricky dolphins in a pool. (This reminds me of Trois Couleurs: Bleu, when Juliette Binoche is floating in the water.) The trainer shows up and exiles me, much to my dismay, but she is strong, muscular in a bright blue bathing suit, and I am only myself in my dress, which isn’t tailored enough to make me look pretty.

In a nicely decorated room with no water at all (and no dolphins, tame or otherwise) stands my grandfather, leaning on a mantelpiece and speaking seriously into the telephone. Upon noticing my entrance, in the pretty but unflattering dress, he cradles the phone against his shoulder and informs me that I must go to China, though I am headed somewhere else. I have never been to China, and I am worried (It’s New York, says J when I tell him this part, and I say I know.)

Briefly I am in an airport, going to or arriving in China, I don’t remember which, but more importantly I am transported to a much more elite hotel that the one in the States (wherever we were, my grandfather and I), and nowhere do I see anyone Chinese. (The lack of Oriental-looking people in China is not an issue in the dream, I don’t think I noticed.)

{ Interruption, the mail man came: Marvelous present from Miriam! I am so excited and wanting to have adventures now, and that’s good because tomorrow I am going to New York City, by myself, with a pretty antique wine-color suitcase with paisley interior, and all my clothes my mother “helped me” choose to take because they all match each other in different combinations so I’ll have some “flexibility” while still traveling light. Anyway, M. sent me a map of Vienna with keys in five languages, and Victorian fish stickers, a wallet-sized “Chart of Iridology” (I think iridology is kindof like phrenology except for the eyes rather than the top of the head), a Magic Tree I can grow in just a few hours, 2 black and white photos (of Pittsburgh, I assume - one has [American] Indian dolls in an antique store window, and the other is a bridge with dinosaurs (??) on it), and a little book she made and illustrated herself called “A Small Story About the Moon” which is so lovely and fairytale and had red ribbons to close it. Also, a soft grey feather. She has pretty handwriting, and it is somewhat similar to mine (I didn’t know this; I’ve been trying to get her to write me a letter for THREE YEARS). I am so wanting to say think you with lots of exclamation points but she is not online and already told me to have fun in NYC so maybe I won’t get to talk to her until Sunday. And that is not even all I got in the mail! I got waving combs from ebay so maybe I can have more flapper-like hair, and that is of course marvelous because no one can feel like crap when they have flapper-like hair. }

In the exclusive hotel (in China) are chandeliers producing the kind of soft pinkish light known to even out even the worst of complexions, and two spider-like women stand at the desk with their noses in the air and skin much too tight on their cheeks. The woman to whom I speak has the utmost contempt for me, but directs me toward a long hall, at the end of which sits a table with a large floral arrangement, silver trays of cookies and different shades of wine. To the right, a large doorway opens into a much larger ballroom, where a dance is going on.

The dancers are women with long dark hair and white dresses with red sashes (these dresses would not look good on me either, and are somewhat similar to what I am wearing in the dream, and now that I think of it, I think my hair was long too, at least in that segment). They all hold hands, flying around in birdlike formations, only more circle and less V. It is like some native ritual, but not at all solemn, they all grin widely and are obviously giddy. I run to join in, laughing and unaware.

The snobbish woman from the desk, emaciated and frowning, leads me to my room, which is more of a suite, expansive and open. She reminds me, with that hateful look in her eyes, that I am in China and alone, knowing no one and unliked by all.

In my room stands a boy from my past. (He is a scruffy guy from my honors math classes in high school, the intelligent but underachiever sort; he’d stay up all night drinking and then come to school dead tired, slept in class from time to time. Many days he just wouldn’t show up at all. We never talked much, but I always got the impression that he was interesting; he liked Woody Allen and took philosophy classes and wanted to go to film school. He had the second highest SAT score.) I have no idea why he is in China, or in my room, but I am so glad to see someone I know, someone who likes me, unlike those dreadfully sharp women from the desk, and all of a sudden his tongue in is my mouth, and we are making out while the coral and lime patterned wall paper swirls around and I try my best to disregard the fact that I am kissing THIS boy in favor of just that I am kissing and not alone. Somehow in all this we wind up having sex, and all along I am criticizing him horribly, and am even MAD that he seems to be completely inept, and I laugh and insult him, pushing him off of me right before he orgasms, and so he comes all over my leg, and it is ORANGE. (The night before the dream I’d accidentally squirted soy sauce all over my shorts; this seems somehow related).

He follows me into a huge bathroom, like a public restroom with multiple sinks and stalls, only it is part of my suite, and he stands there as I continue berating his performance and trying to washing orange semen off of me. He leaves, and that is all I remember of that.

Jump to the next day, and J arrives and I am leaning against him on a couch, crying, trying to explain the whole story to him. He is upset, disappointed, and I can’t seem to get out what I’m trying to say. I am feeling guilty, because though I wasn’t enjoying myself through the whole mess I was certainly WANTING to enjoy myself, and was a willing participant. At one point J gets up and closes some blinds on a window, and it is horrible, the whole dream was extremely unpleasant, save the dance scene, and I wake up very glad the realize none of it had really happened.