In Which I Recount A Dream

March 30, 2012

In Which I Recount A Dream

Even my subconscious is beginning to panic. I wasn’t even thinking about canvassing much yesterday, but anxiety must be lurking beneath the surface. Last night, I dreamed I was with Callie. We were canvassing at what must’ve been a school, because later Callie would try to canvass a teacher, but first we had to sit though his class. I got bored and started reading the textbook. It was about fathers and family.

Anyway, I remember nothing prior to this incident except a whole lot of anxiety. You know that feeling of anxiety and badness that differentiates a mere bad dream from a nightmare? Yeah, this was nightmare feeling.

There was this old lady in a yellow sweater. I think she was a teacher. Callie told me to go canvass her. I remember being terrified, thinking I hadn’t memorized the canvass yet, because canvassing hadn’t officially started. This was something we were doing before the summer program.

Now, MAYBE at this point I realized I was dreaming, but not enough to wake myself up, and the reason it turned out so well is because I was able to manipulate the dream without being aware I was manipulating it. I suppose anything is possible.

As I approached her, I thought I can tell, she’s not going to buy anything. Anyway, the lady didn’t speak much English. She started speaking to me in German, but I was too terrified to start speaking it back, and I don’t speak it well anyway. (Certainly not well enough to dream about it like I do…which is so weird. Does anybody know how I can dream in a language I don’t even speak? I thought you only had dreams in languages you were fluent in? That it was proof you knew the language?)

I only had 2 books with me. I can’t remember if I was out of books, or if this was just all I had. But I said something like, “Hi, I’m Abby, I’m selling books.” *thrusts books across the table*. The lady took the books that I had, and asked me to send her a copy of every other book I had, and filled out an order form.

I remember being confused: This was supposed to be a nightmare. This was not supposed to happen. It was at that point that I woke up. Because of course the minute you realize you’re having a dream is the minute you wake up.

So, I think I’m a little confused. Or maybe I’ve just heard too many good stories of canvassing and not enough bad? Maybe I’ve read so many good stories that I can’t even have a proper nightmare? Do I seriously expect, in my heart of hearts, that canvassing will be sunshine and rainbows and cupcakes and daisies?

I think someone needs to scare me a little. I don’t think I’m scared enough.

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In Which I Am Content

Today I got to spend a day with my grandmother. Just me and my grandmother. That’s kind of rare. Even when I visit her, usually my cousin is around. I love my cousin too, but sometimes it’s nice to get time with just grandma. We went to Salvation army, goodwill, and goodwill. Then I went to Starbucks and bought us both smoothies.

Mary and I also decided today was a good day to see grandpa and step grandma. Sometimes Step-grandma is not always pleasant to be around, so we weren’t sure how this would go. But grandpa is really sick, and, this might be the last time I see him. Unless I get to go to campmeeting. And the visit today actually went well. Grandpa was tired, but he’d perked up a bit by the time we left. Step-grandma was pleasant, and didn’t say anything I wanted to smack her for.

This summer is going to be hard, probably one of if not THE hardest summer I’ve ever had. For this reason, I decided my blog needed at least one entry that is pleasant and good. For today, all was well.

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In Which I Begin to Panic

So far I’ve dealt with any anxiety I feel about canvassing by not thinking about it. For a long time I was able to get through by concentrating on other things I would do once I finally got to go downstate: seeing friends, restringing dolls, trying to convince someone to buy me thai food, etc.

Unfortunately, it’s time to pack, and I can’t not think about it anymore. The idea of going up to strangers’ houses and trying to sell them something terrifies me. Other people terrify me. Having to make enough money to buy my own lunch every day terrifies me. Wearing a skirt scares me. The fact that I still don’t know how I’m getting from grandma’s house to canvassing scares me. (I have a friend who offered to come halfway, but I don’t even know how I’ll get that far.)

My parents are not making it any easier. Without explicitly saying so, they have made it clear that they do not approve. I try not to dwell on it too much, because I learned a long time ago that nothing I do is ever going to make my parents happy. They are still making it so much worse. When people around me doubt me, it causes me to doubt myself, and I don’t know how to handle this. So then it throws me off mentally, and I get anxious. I don’t know how to explain the mental process of that.

Canvassing isn’t the only thing I’m anxious about. It’s one thing if perfect strangers don’t like you, but it’s another thing altogether when it’s your own family. And I can’t escape it. There’s dislike in my immediate family, and the extended family downstate as well. I love my family, really, I do. But I can’t deal with the fact that, even though certain relatives don’t like me, they still want to see me. I am supposed to try to get them to like me again.

I am not the type of person who could do this, even if I wanted to. When I know someone doesn’t like me, I can’t stand to be around them, because I’m scared any little thing I do will set them off. I Can’t look them in the eye. Can hardly talk to them. This is why, if someone dislikes me, it’s better that I not know.

So, I am scared of pretty much everything I am going to do this summer. One of my friends asked if I was sure God wanted me to do this. It’s a fair question, as said friend is still supportive and not actively trying to dissuade me. How should I know? To me, God is like a small child. Small child can’t verbalize, so he cries and screams until the caregiver figures out what small child wants. Then small child is happy and cuddly until the next time he wants something, at which time he throws a huge tantrum, and cycle repeats. And if you give Small Child the wrong thing, small child screams louder. That is what I feel God is like. He won’t TELL me what he wants, just throws tantrums and gets mad when I do the wrong thing. How can I please a god like that?

Pray for me. I honestly do not know if I can do this.

Ok, off to go pack.

 

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In Which I Create A New Blog

For the following reasons:

1. It’s incredibly annoying to have my other blog linked into my gmail account. God forbid I want to be logged into one gmail account AND my blog (which uses a separate email address) AT THE SAME TIME.

2. This way people can more easily subscribe via email

3. The name of my old one was…well, I’m not suicidal anymore, so I needed a change.

I’m not sure of all the content I’m going to put on here. Definitely creative writing projects, for sure, but I also find myself needing a place to vent where someone can hear me. Or at least, where I can trick myself into THINKING someone will hear me.

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m normally a very private person, and I’ve long since learned my lesson on what sort of content I post on the internet that just anyone can get to. Thus I am not associating my real name with this account. If I gave you the link, you’ll know who I am.

For this reason, I will probably utilize codes quite frequently. Chances are that if you have this URL, you will already know the codes. If you don’t, you can always ask me. The worst I can do is tell you no. Heck, I might actually want to tell you, but I might be waiting for you to ask.

I am going canvassing this summer. I might blog about it, if people are interested in reading about it. (For those who don’t know, Canvassing is basically where you go door to door selling Adventist books. It’s not about making money, so much as it is about reaching people for Christ.)

So, I think that about covers it. I might still keep up my old blog…we’ll see… or I might transfer the posts and delete the other account…for those of you who care to view the former entries on my old blog, message me. If you’re a person I gave the url to this one to, then you are not the type of person I would refuse.

So, any dumb questions?

Good. Now to an actual blog entry.

Today I mostly typed… I type up all my old journals so that in case of fire copies are still preserved. I was typing up my bible notebook #2, which spans from March 2004-September 2006, and the picks up again in april 2011. The part where it picks up in 2011 is not bad, but the parts from March to September, holy cow. Are all 15 year olds this bad, or was it just me? When you read through your journals form when you were 15 (assuming you kept any) do you cringe? Do you think about burning them? No, I don’t either. After I die, someone might want to read them. And I will want them to know everything.

I mean, what’ll I care? I’ll be dead.

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