If I keep going on like this I won't get my cookies

I had heavy dreams last night. But dreams of me stronger than I am normally. I was paralyzed in bed, my voice paralyzed. i wasn’t choking on words – that would require words to be stuck somewhere. No, my words hadn’t even formed into clouds, into vapor – they were apparitions moving through curtains and slamming doors in my mind. I kept asking myself why why why I was so scared. I didn’t do anything as a child. I protected myself in silence.

In my dreams I finally said things to an old lost friend. She’s my test ghost. Her presence in my dreams measures where I am strength-wise in myself. She can be overbearing and mean. I can be a wet noodle. She can be disinterested and callous. I can be shy and in dark corners.

the last two dreams I’ve had about her I felt we were equals. Something that’s never happened before. But finally last night I told her what I needed back then; that I was still hurt about how she treated me.

She said she would try to be here for me now – I’ve heard that before. I said we should take our time getting to know each other again. She said she was devoted to making things of the past right. “Don’t you feel like this is awkward right now,” she said as we walked beside each other through a jungle stuck in a mall. “Yes, it is awkward right now, but it’s honest,” I replied.

My next dream was early this morning. I was home in Davis, riding my bike as all Davisites do and on my way to a coffee shop for a mocha. It was Valentine’s Day as well, so I decided to get my friends cupcake brownies with 5 stories of whipped cream on them. I stood in line and waited. As it was my turn to order the server looks to me and I don’t say anything. But there’s a guy standing next to me who cuts in front of me, pushes me aside and gives his order. At this point, I freak out (yay me!). Curse words, loud words, words all words and I’m yelling in public. The owner even has to tell me that this is a children’s establishment and I apologize to him. But suddenly it becomes my job (appointed by the owner who is now a therapist) to see how many times I can piss this guy into a frenzy – without curse words of course. If the mad man gets angry 5 times he doesn’t get any cookies.

I push him and I push him and I push him. I don’t want him to get cookies. I think he’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve cookies. He yells 4 times, in my face, yelling personal, cutting things and I yell back. I don’t remember the words just the feeling of them coming out of me – angry.

Finally, he sits down next to me, quiet, exhausted and says “this all has to do with your dad and it’s not your fault and I’m sorry to bring all my anger on you. I figured out on my own that if I keep going on like this I won’t get my cookies.”

I wonder why I’m so afraid to get angry in my daily life? It’s so personal, so untamed – like having an orgasm in front of someone. I’m not ready to let certain people see me out of control. But anger isn’t the sort of emotion that waits around until you’re ready or not.

When I was on the river, I wanted to row harder, be stronger, write harder, work harder. I wanted to row through the wind. I wanted my arms to get heavy. I wanted my body to feel the work. I wanted to come home and train so that next year when I went out again, I’d be that much stronger.

Perhaps all I need is more practice.

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