Dream journal: Marilyn Stocks, teaching, & a dark-haired dream lover

15 July, Thursday. After cramming for my Elderhostel workshop, I had garbled dreams. One involved Marilyn Stocks, who was passing out my gift T-shirts to the class. I said wait, those are my gifts for family, and those T-shirts are for my brother. She held up a black one with tropical fish and hung it on the back wall paired with an outfit, a lime, green long undershirt beneath the transparent skirt. She laughs and make a makes a comment about enticing rapists.

She leaves, and one man stays. He is my lover. I don’t know who he is. I am also in the seat behind him watching myself. Domestic situation, hot plate. Like at Herman’s place, a kitchen terrycloth towel falls on it.

I’m also in the back of the classroom. I snatch up the towel, but it gets burned on the electric coil hot plate. There is a pile of sliced vegetables on the next burner. Red peppers, green beans, zucchini. I sweep them off and into a pan because I know they’ll cook better and then I jokingly say maybe we should just get married. Utter silence. 

There are domestic problems with this relationship. Clutter, something and domestic ugliness having to do with relationships in general, nothing specific.

I don’t know who this man is. Then I was awakened by the doorbell but I don’t have a doorbell. I tried to recapture the dream fragments, but no luck. Jim Bird, Jan, Bogaerts, and Vins van Neerven all crossed my mind as possible candidates. He was a dark-haired man, and I couldn’t see enough of his body to guess who it was.