Why I don't believe in dream dictionaries

Hello, lovelies! It's time for another random non-writing blog.

So I'm a big fan of piecing together the meaning of my dreams - not because I think there's any kind of Answer to Life found in it, but because it tends to shed a fascinating light on my psychology and the way my subconscious connects ideas.

I am not, however, a fan of going to the Big Book of Dream Meanings and looking up the symbols in the book. Why? Because different symbols take on different meanings depending on the person's experience.

For example:

My first night in my new room at college, I woke up terrified out of a nightmare. In the dream, my "brother" (some random kid produced for the dream; at some points it was a female friend) and I were advancing through the levels of this sort of game, except it was real life. At the end of the dream, we turned to discover a woman behind us. She had been a sort of mentor of mine. I knew for a fact she was dead (I had in fact dreamed out her death, earlier). She was dragging along a sort of gold box on wheels (grated at the top) behind her. We tried to explain to her that she was dead, pointing out the fact that she was dragging this thing behind her (apparently it was her coffin, or it had her body in it) at which point she went into an insane rage and tried to kill us - the twisted psychology being that if she killed us, since we were the ones who had told her she was dead, she would be alive again. I twisted around the dream until I realized there was no way I could prevent my death, since there was a ghost witch after me, and this realization woke me up before my heart exploded or something.

First, let me analyze this dream according to my understanding of myself:
- I frequently have dreams about trying to avoid some person/institution/force that wishes me ill. I ascribe this to having a fairly high-anxiety, nonconfrontational personality. Because I tend to avoid problems/generate a lot of anxiety when I don't avoid them, I tend to have uneasy dreams where I'm running from/avoiding some antagonist.
- The whole "game" business represents order being imposed by some outside force: I have no control over order/chaos in the world of the dream.
- Ghosts, to me, represent the unknown, and because they are unknown, I have no way to defend myself against them. Basically ghosts = powerlessness in my mental shorthand. It's like a deux ex machina for my subconscious.

So a quick summary might be: This dream represents anxiety/avoidance stemming from a sense of powerlessness.

Now, let's look up these things in a dream dictionary (http://www.dreammoods.com/dreamdictionary/):
Chase:
"To dream that you are being chased signifies that you are avoiding a situation that you do not think is conquerable. It is a metaphor for some form of insecurity." So far, so good.
Video Game:
"To see or dream that you are a character in a video game suggests that you are feeling controlled and manipulated by others. You feel that you have no control over your actions or are not taking responsibility for them." Pretty close. Two out of three!
Ghost:
"To dream that ghosts are trying to kill you implies that you are ready to confront your past and your repressed emotions, despite how painful it may be. You are ready to move forward with your life and leave the past behind." Hey, look! Three for -- wait, what?

So why does the last one not match up with my own analysis?

It's because the underlying meaning of the symbol is different for me than it is for the average dreamer. According to the dictionary, ghosts = history, presumably because ghosts are figments from the past. I've already explained how for me, ghosts represent something entirely different.

Anyway, this is actually the least disturbing of the three dreams I've had recently that I can remember. They all seem to feature rather twisted/violent character relationships. It's really rather odd because I'm a relatively cheerful/peaceful sort of person, and these sorts of characters wouldn't normally occur to my waking mind. (I mean, it's good story fodder, but still...) I can't seem to pinpoint a trigger for the dreams, either, except maybe a general vague worry about being able to keep up with my course/workload this semester.

When the one bad egg ruins it for the others

Hi, all, that is to say, my dear blog of general invisibility. I'm currently hanging out on the opposite coast, in the (not) sunny state of (not) warm California. Touring San Fransisco for the weekend, which is gorgeous, foggy, and not the sort of place you want to wear capris. Anyway, I thought it was time for another random non-writing-related blog post.

So when I'm home for the holidays I work in the city, at a company that manufactures infectious diseases for research use. (Yes, you read that right: I work for a company that makes viruses. The human kind. Which is pretty awesome bragging rights, even if I'm just Paperwork Girl.) This company is located on the Medical Campus - not a college campus, just an area that has a lot of (bio)medical companies/facilities - which is an...unusual part of town, to say the least. On the one hand, you have all the doctors and interns and businesspeople heading to work, to lunch, to their car, etc. On the other, you have a bunch of, uh, interesting other types who live or work in non-medical occupations nearby. (Case in point: the time a coworker came back laughing from our labs next door because she'd seen a pimp carrying a cane. Or how a different one asks me all the time if I get freaked out walking the two blocks or so from the building to the lot, since I leave several hours earlier than anyone else and I'm always walking alone.)

Normally this does not bother me in the least. I mean, I'm crossing Main St., for goodness sake, and there's medical folk all over -- I'm reasonably sure that if something weird happened I could give a shout, and SOMEONE would notice and help me out. And I've always got my cell phone in my pocket.

But the other day, I had crossed the street and was headed toward the lot when this guy -- same side of the street, but with a parked car between him and the sidewalk -- starts talking at me. Started off with, "Hey, sweetie" and I basically tuned it out from there, because when someone addresses you like that, the nicest sort of thing you're going to hear will be massively objectifying. I just put my head down, pretended not to hear him, and kept walking, which (a) made me feel like a bit of an ass (despite the circumstances) because I don't particularly enjoy pretending people don't exist, and (b) was rather humiliating, because I very much would have liked to turn on him and inform him that no, he would not call me "sweetie," he had no effin idea if I was a sweetie or not, it was none of his goddamn business what kind of a person I was, and unless he had somehow become a member of my immediate family he would apologize IMMEDIATELY and never call me that in such a demeaning way ever again. Except, yanno, I'm a skinny stick of a girl and for all I knew that could have been his provocation to sling me over one shoulder and carry me off to murder me somewhere.

I could go on for hours about how that's wrong and an obvious example of misogyny in the world today, etc. etc. I think most decent people already know that, though, and my point is actually quite different.

Today I had to drop by Walgreens so I could pick up some contact solution (didn't have any travel size for the plane). As I was walking out of the store, I accidentally caught the eye of a random guy. I saw that he was unshaven and not well-dressed, which immediately classified him as Not a Tourist and therefore Potential Trouble in my head.

He smiled at me and said, "Hi, lovely." I was skeeved out, faked a smile, and dropped eye contact as quick as possible.

He stopped at the bus shelter I was walking past, and I saw him out of the corner of my eye as he held out a plastic shopping bag to a guy sitting there. I caught just a snatch of what he was saying -- "Yeah, here, I've got..." and realized suddenly that he must be homeless, and so was the guy he was talking to, and they were eating their dinner out of a plastic shopping bag under a bus shelter.

And then I thought back and realized that when he said, "Hi, lovely," he was not trying to pick me up or make a crass comment or otherwise take advantage of me. The eye contact, the smile, the tone of voice -- it was all too genuine for him to be an insecure ass trying to demonstrate his power over some random girl in the street. No: he happened to catch my eye and I seemed like a lovely person to him, so he addressed me as such. There's something simple and wonderful in that kind of sincerity -- pulling a word free of all its connotations and saying it exactly as it's supposed to be -- and I bet 95% of the world's population couldn't pull it off.

And here I had just scurried away from him like he'd been mocking me.

I wish I could say I went back and apologized and explained myself, but I'm not that brave. I stood on the corner of the road a few yards away trying to figure out what had just happened, until my dad pulled up to take me back to the hotel.

So there you go, asshole: the worst harm you did with your comments wasn't to make a random person going about her daily business uncomfortable, although they certainly did that. They prevented a real smile and a genuine "thank-you" from going to a guy who lives on kind words and spare change. Brilliant job.

And dear homeless person: I appreciate the compliment. I really do. I wish I'd stopped to tell you that, now, and I hope my reaction wasn't hurtful - although I'm sure it cuts deep every time a person judges you before they've even given you a full look. I bet you see a lot more than I do and know a lot more than you realize, and I hope you have a good night.