Dream – June 23, 2016
I was walking past that small shopping complex in Moscow where we used to buy groceries on the way home from the metro. But this time I was walking in the opposite direction—toward the metro. As I was walking, I saw this scene…
In front of one of the shops, there was a half-naked man sleeping on the asphalt, and next to him was his snake. The snake was brown and coiled in several loops. It wasn’t tiny, but not giant either. It didn’t look terrifying.
I walked past the snake twice. The first time it was just lying there, coiled up with its head slightly extended. The second time, it had stretched out to about a meter, and it was clear it had swallowed something—maybe an animal, like a medium-sized dog… I kept walking, and I had some animals with me, who, by the way, spoke human language.
Among them was a fox named Martin. And there was also some kind of bird who was the loudest, yelling that the snake was dangerous. That bird is exactly the one the snake grabbed by the butt. Honestly, I never could stand that bird, and I was glad it would be gone now.
There was another animal running around, but I only really felt sorry for Martin. I called him over, saying, Martin, come here. He ran up and asked, what? I told him, Don’t go near the snake, it could eat you.
He nodded and ran off but didn’t hang around the snake anymore. He was a very cheerful little fox.
Another part of the dream: some guy pointed at a large, fluffy, ginger cat floating in the sky (sitting upright, no less). The guy said he would “take the cat.” But the cat had such a look of utter contentment on its face, as if it couldn’t care less who would take him—or about anything in the world, really.
The cat seemed so self-sufficient. But when we looked closer at what it actually was, the cat turned into a boy wearing a ginger fur coat, perfectly matching the color of the cat’s fur. I even thought, Dude, now you’re not taking a cat—you’re taking a boy.
Then there was some nonsense about us coming into a salon. I was there with my mom—or rather, someone who seemed like my mom but also seemed like an Indian woman. She was the one paying for everything. They offered us a “free” haircut because we were supposedly “club members” (it was some kind of salon-club). Meanwhile, my Indian “mom” wandered off somewhere, and I couldn’t give my consent without her.
The salon owner started explaining that “free for club members” actually implied a tip of $40.
When “mom” returned, we declined the offer—thanks, but no thanks.
So, they just styled my hair instead.
Then I thought, Since I’m doing something with my hair, maybe I should dye it blue.
(Just a few days ago while awake, I had been playing with my wishlist and added this very blue hair dye to it.)
And in the dream, it was as if I already had it. I started debating: it would be better to lighten my hair first, but decided it would still look cool dark blue even without lightening.
And then I woke up.
Dream – July 30, 2016 – Brazil!
Last night, I flew to Brazil again.
A few days ago, I dreamed I was in Rio—walking along the shore, watching a pink ship with white sails.
Then I wandered through the hilly streets of Rio.
Beautiful courtyards, bathed in sunset light.
An incredible, undefeated feeling of lightness and freedom.
I was at that edge, up there, where the beach transitions into, what seemed to me, rocks.
Waves were crashing against the shore, and the ship was sailing into the sunset.
Last night, I flew there again, but not to Rio—to some small town near São Paulo. Something like San Brauno, although it doesn’t exist; my mind must have made it up.
But it was wonderful there too—hills everywhere, everything soaked in sunlight, beautiful, peaceful—and cheap.
There was a woman there who liked me.
And I was thinking: Well, who cares if it’s a woman? If the person loves me and we’re happy together, it’s okay.
But then I remembered that I’m not actually a lesbian.
I had experimented with women “in my youth,” but now I’m heterosexual, even though I could still “play around” occasionally.
Sexually, though, I prefer men.
There was a man there too.
He was married but in “an open relationship.”
At first, we just talked, but he kept randomly kissing me—on the cheek, on the nose, on the lips, wherever—very casually, like it was nothing, continuing to talk as if nothing had happened.
At some point, I couldn’t help myself and asked about these kisses, like, what exactly do you want?
Then he hugged me and twirled me slightly as if in a dance, telling me what an amazing lover he was.
And it felt like—well, who cares if he’s married? They’re in an open relationship. I could have a romance with him…
But in real life, I never would.
Still, I can admit it burns a little inside me—the thought that my youth is slipping away, if not already gone.
I’ll never again be fresh and firm. I’ll never again have a flawless body unless I undergo multiple surgeries.
I already have visible wrinkles; my skin will never look like it did ten years ago.
And back then, I was always waiting—waiting—and sometimes out of fear of losing time, I would agree to relationships I didn’t deserve, breaking inside, burning up from them.
No, they weren’t worth it.
Better to be alone than to accept some scraps of closeness just to have something.
But the fear that I might wait so long that I grow old without ever really experiencing the intimacy, closeness, sexual connection I yearn for…
That fear is so painful.
And nothing else can replace it.
Dream – July 31, 2016 – Dream… Reality… Love…
At home (in the old three-room apartment in Moscow where I grew up), there was some gathering—some businessmen…
In the kitchen sat some “rich kid” casually handing out money, signing checks for everyone—apparently investing in their businesses.
Suddenly someone said, Ben S. is coming! (Lucky guy, what a beautiful last name.)
Someone else said, There he is.
I stepped onto the balcony, supposedly to get some air, but really to see him.
And I saw Ben walking toward my building.
I didn’t know how I would meet him.
After everything he had done in my life—after “running me over with a tank,” as I say—I had built up so much bitterness and anger toward him that I felt if we met face-to-face, I would want to beat him up.
Of course, I understand that narcissism is a disease.
But I did not enjoy the codependency.
I tried to leave the relationship several times.
It took six months to fully break free—and a year and a half after that to recover and free myself from his influence.
A year and a half of my beautiful life.
In the dream, I was nervous—both because I wanted to tear him apart and because I wanted him to see me beautiful. Victorious.
I already looked good—stylishly dressed—but I ran to the mirror to fix my eyeliner.
Ben walked in—older, grayer, but still the same womanizer.
He sat down to take off his shoes, saw me, recognized me, and let out a surprised “Whoa!”
Natashka.
That’s what he used to call me—Natashka.
I offered him my hand—it was still a business gathering, after all.
He kissed me on the cheek “like in the old days.”
Inside, there was a storm—pain and bitterness from what I had lived through with him—and yet a longing for the love that had once seemed real.
That’s how narcissism works.
Narcissists choose vulnerable, tender, love-hungry victims, overwhelm them with displays of affection to quickly hook them—and then slowly or quickly strip them of autonomy, manipulate them, disregard their needs, all while pretending to be generous.
The victim’s mind gets foggy and tangled.
Even when they see clearly, leaving feels like abandoning love itself—not just the illusion.
That’s why, in the dream, I was torn.
It hurt so much—for everything I had gone through with and without him.
But something in me still craved him.
Craved the possibility that maybe it hadn’t all been fake.
That maybe I could be loved.
Maybe I had been loved.
At least once.
The dream shifted.
Ben disappeared.
In the bedroom, the two beds—my parents’ old bedroom set—were soaked with dirty water.
I went to the kitchen to complain to the “rich kid.”
He immediately wrote me a check, though he didn’t hand it over right away; he hung it up somewhere.
Then I received a letter saying my inheritance case after my father’s death was under review—and that I was entitled to a fifth of the estate.
Of course, even in the dream, I knew my stepmother would say something like, You’re getting nothing.
How symbolic!
I had wanted a little love.
Just a little love from my father.
But he had arranged it so that I would get nothing—not even one book!
When he and my mother divided property during their divorce, everything was split between the two of them, sometimes even favoring him.
We had a silverware set—he took four sets; mom and I were left with two.
He took all the prettiest things.
It was as if I didn’t exist.
This father, who supposedly had “a program for my development,” never once gave me a book to read.
Never left me a single item.
His beautiful library—Lives of Remarkable People—would go to his wife’s children and grandchildren.
I don’t need those books.
Especially now—everything you need you can download or buy.
But it’s the attitude.
It was always like that.
As if I never existed.
As my psychologist said, He was incredibly selfish, my father.
And Ben always reminded me of him—his behavior, even his voice.
Ben was practically my father—but as a lover.
It’s all so symbolic.
Thank you, Dad.
For the love.
Dream – August 14, 2016
I got married.
But of course, simply, in a normal, human way — I just can’t do that. I need it with some kind of twist, something that would make most people around (the vast majority) shake their heads and think I’m crazy.
So, I didn’t just marry some single guy. I married an entire family. A Mom-Dad, plus a husband who already had several wives. And everyone lived in a huge castle with massive grounds, an elevator inside, and a ton of servants.
Now that I try to remember my husband — I don’t like him. I’ve never been a fan of the typical “Russian” male type — short, skinny, kind of pale. But in the dream, that didn’t bother me at all; everything felt fine. Even though I practically didn’t know these people at all, somehow, for some dumb reason, I married into their family. 🙂
In real life, this setup would never, ever work for me. I mean, I wouldn’t mind having several husbands, because honestly, one probably wouldn’t be enough for me. But sharing even one with someone else? Totally impossible. Even one wouldn’t be enough for me. 🙂
Nevertheless, we got married and, somehow, lived together in this crazy family. Me and all these wives.
The wives weren’t bad, really — only one was a little bit nervous, probably because she had gained some weight and was stressed about it.
But I had an ace up my sleeve!
I had just watched a documentary about the best diets for humans and told her, “Hey, if you want, I can help you!”
Meanwhile, I lived in a room where everything (well, almost everything) was packed up in boxes.
Apparently, I was about to move out soon — leave completely and move to a different place — and my marriage to this family would end with that move.
I was lazily thinking about how I would handle the divorce… And why the hell did I even get married in the first place?
But whenever I asked myself “why,” I would just feel this weird Zen-buddhist who-cares feeling and think: “Well, it must have been necessary. Got married, so what, it happened — nothing more to say.”
And then came the last evening…
In the morning, I needed to pack the final things (whatever I used overnight) and send them off to the new place.
That evening, I was waiting for Mom-Dad to come so I could say goodbye.
Especially, for some reason, I was really waiting for the mom.
But they just wouldn’t come.
Suddenly, a very fast car showed up, driven by one of the wives, and she brought the Mom-Dad.
But somehow, the mom still didn’t seem to actually come…
And it was already 7:30 PM.
It would take me an hour and a half to get home.
(I don’t even know which home I was thinking about…)
Then I went back into the house and started clumsily saying goodbye to everyone.
At that point, my husband showed up and called me over for a farewell, let’s say… consummation.
(What happened during the consummation, I won’t share — way too intimate.)
But I’ll say this: it felt just like real life, which is rare in dreams.
After the consummation, I was getting ready to leave, looking for some transport.
I crossed a little lawn in front of the castle and ran into my “husband.”
He looked at me like I was a complete stranger, and it was pretty clear he wasn’t even happy to see me — didn’t even seem to want to say hello or goodbye.
Classic man behavior: sleeps with a woman once, and next time they meet, acts like they’ve never met. Yuck…
I approached the gates, and some woman and I had apparently already been assigned a “ship” (they even showed a photo of a boat) that would come to pick us up along with our luggage.
And only then did it hit me — I still had unpacked boxes in my room!
I rushed back into the castle, tried to call the elevator, and bumped into Irisha (a girl I went to kindergarten with).
She asked what was going on, and I told her, “I haven’t finished packing my stuff. I’m going to be up all night packing and honestly have no idea how I’ll leave in the morning.
Right now, I have a ride, but tomorrow? Who knows if I’ll even have one.”
She said, “Well, then just toss it all!”
I made huge round eyes and said, “What are you talking about?! I can’t just throw it out! That’s my whole life. A whole house full of things. I need all of it!”
And that’s when I woke up.
Oh, man, seriously — what the hell!
I should mention — there was also a “story within the story” — a little cut-in:
It was like I had arrived at the castle with some research team in a carriage (an ordinary city carriage, like an open horse-drawn cart but with an engine!).
We came to the castle to collect some artifacts.
We found some magical symbols and relics and one box (which somehow seemed like it was from my things), and we knew that this box held the key to understanding the magical artifacts.
We loaded everything onto the carriage and started to drive out of the castle.
Apparently, we were supposed to go uphill first and then downhill to get out.
But we decided to shortcut across the lawn toward the gates.
Right then, the carriage disappeared, and I found myself walking across the lawn toward the exit — and that’s where I ran into my loser “husband.”
I woke up, honestly, in shock.