23 Dream).

It’s dark outside. I park the truck in what seems like an alleyway and begin walking towards the house some distance away, passing by some people outside, clearly members of the birthday party already well underway. A short distance away, I see Lilly near the door, and just as her eyes meet mine I realize I had forgotten my hat, and tell her I’ll be right back before turning around. Before I make it back to the truck, however, I realize that my hat is on my head. I feel like a fool, quietly and intensely hoping that Lilly — my friend, the birthday girl — didn’t notice it.

After being at the party for a short time, my parents and sisters show up, and we sit with Lilly at a big, wooden table. I feel embarrassed and confused as to why I woukd elect to meet up with my family here, and my sense of how awkward this is just grows and grows.

Lilly eventually leans in close to the side of my face and whispers in my ear. The essence of what she said is that they’re going to smoke pot, so I might not want to have my family around. With that, I kindly escort them out without revealing why.

After they leave, I remain at the party for a short time before that familiar feeling of overstaying my welcome and being too socially awkward overwhelms me and I elect to leave as well.

Once leaving the party, however, I can’t find my truck. Its not where I was sure I had parked it. Then begins an enduring period of wandering around the town, with its elaborate alleyways, houses, yards and buildings, still unable to find my truck and now having not the faintest clue as to how I could even make it back to the party if I wanted to.

It suddenly occurs to me that this is remarkably akin to dreams I had periodically in my childhood and began having more frequently the last year or two. The town in question is always different — as a kid, it always used to be the same, desert town that gave off Old West vibes, where I’d either be running around on foot or riding a bicycle, trying to escape something that was chasing me. Nowadays it was a modern town, though always different, and I was always lost in it, looking for something — usually my vehicle. In either case, it always seems to be a labyrinth of a town and I feel frighteningly lost, frantically trying to find the vehicle as I wander through houses, buildings, yards and alleyways, just as I found myself doing now.

At some point I run into my father, who had apparently moved the truck for some reason, but then he leaves and somehow I manage to lose the truck again, so my wandering continues for what increasing seems like an utterly absurd amount of time.

Now it’s getting light out and my frustration has elevated to a mixture of panic and rage. While I slowly begin to realize I’m actually dreaming, I’m determined to stay in the dream and find the truck before awakening, as I always seem to wake up before doing so. I suddenly cry out to the sky while in some alleyway something along the lines of: “I’m so fucking sick of these dreams where I’m lost and can’t find my truck!”

Then I let myself wake up.

This is the most I’ve been able to remember of a dream for the last week or two, though I have recalled remnants.

In a dream I had on April 22nd, I’m Cassidy, the character off of the television show, Preacher, though I’m not a drug-abusing vampire. I’m sneaking around a building, hiding in various places — at one point, in some guys bedroom, where I smoke a cigarette.

In another dream, I’m driving the truck up a hill, but it won’t go fast enough, so I somehow reach out my hands in front of the truck to claw at the road and pull the truck up it faster. Suddenly, the truck is gone and I’m just walking and clawing my way up the hill alongside others, all of us wearing Depression-era clothing.

In the dream I had on the 23rd, though I don’t know if I’m the main character in the dream, it deals with this middle-aged, worn-out looking Secret Service guy who’s job it is to protect the president. I had a vision of him, hair and slight beard graying, sitting on a chair, smoking a cigarette and loking very tired and worn out. I also remember something about a pond or a lake.

Most recently, however — maybe a day or two ago — I had this elaborate dream about visiting some structure like a hotel that was either right by the ocean or atop the ocean like an oil rig. At the end I leave with others on a huge boat, though we leave some people behind. My ex-girlfriend, Claire, was a central character in this dream, and it’s been some time since I’ve recalled a dream of her. In terms of character she seemed very young, almost child-like.

Now my dream recall was returning again, and even within the context of the dream I was getting annoyed with the recurring themes. I know it’s because I’d failed to motivate myself to get a new job, and that I’d failed to find a new apartment. If I don’t by the end of May, my rent will increase by 200 fucking dollars and I’ll be stuck paying it every month for another year.

So I’m stuck with these dreams of being “lost” and not being able to find my “drive.” Of that part of the dream — of so many dreams the last bunch of months — the meaning is clear.

I need to get accessed for ADHD, and soon. If I have it, maybe it’ll give me the focus, the direction, the motivation, the drive I need to get my life in order.

Fridges, Pets, & Scrotums (12/5-6/21 Dreams).

12/5/21

I think I first saw the fridge in a cluttered, well-lit basement or garage, where it was being stored, as I had been planning on moving out. I had decided to stay, however, so some guy who was with me was going to help me take it back into the kitchen.

Then, abruptly, I’m in the kitchen, staring at the fridge. Is this my fridge, though? Its colored dark orange with silver handles and looks like it came straight out of the 70s. To boot, the doors opened the wrong way, but it didn’t seem as if we had put it upside down or anything. Opening it, I saw that it was packed with stuff, including some things — grapejuice I remember specifically — that I knew I wouldn’t drink. I imagined I’d just leave it there forever, ignoring it, and the stuff would just go to waste, which I found to be a shame.

12/6/21

In one dream scene, I had a pet. If it has a definite identity, I can’t quite remember — it may have been a rabbit or a squirrel, but whatever it was, it was some small, fuzzy creature about the size of my hand. I had tried to take care of it and keep up with it, but I had suddenly realized that I’d forgotten all about it and felt tremendously guilty, horribly irresponsible. Searching for the critter, I quickly find it hiding in a pile of my laundry after accidentally stepping on it, though it seemed to be okay.

This is a recurring theme in my dreams, this scenario of having a pet and then forgetting I have it, having forgotten to take care of it, and then feeling incredible painic, guilt, and self-loathing once I remember it, so I’m quite familiar with the potential meanings:

– Not living up to my responsibilities.
– Failing in an important area of my life.
– Neglecting some aspect of myself symbolized by the particular animal in question.
– Neglecting creative passions.

The animal in this case was of an ambiguous nature, however, and while I did forget about it, I also remembered having put forth more effort in nurturing it and being responsible prior to having forgotten it, too. So hopefully that signifies some improvement.

It probably deals with my feeble attempts to slow down my drinking (which, I mean, is an improvement), my desire to get assessed for ADHD despite having done nothing as of yet to meet that end, and having finally done some of my laundry the previous evening after having put it off for too long.

In the other dream scene, I may be in a bar, perhaps some stadium, and I see a large, Styrofoam cup with huge chunks of ice inside left unattended. Much as I do at work when cleaning the breakroom, I proceed to dump it and throw it away in the trash. As I’m in the midst of doing so, I hear a guy saying, “Stop,” so I stand up and throw it in the trash. When I stand up, there are two guys standing there. Both look like those stereotypical buff, over-aggressive high school jocks constantly seeking situations in which they can assert their masculinity and show what a tough guy they are. The skinner, taller one keeps back a little, but the shorter, bald, and more buff guy gets in my face.

“Can’t you fucking hear?”

“Yeah, but I was in the middle of something.”

In response, he grabs one end of my nutsack through my pants and pinches hard, twisting a little. Trying to play it cool, mostly because any movement or struggle will most certainly exacerbate the situation, I start making sarcastic comments, implying he’s coming onto me. He says nothing, just keeps on pinching and twisting harder and harder and it really begins to hurt.

I think of punching him. I really, really want to punch him, but my arms won’t cooperate, my fists won’t wad up, I don’t have the confidence or know-how to fight. I’m not sure I even know how to throw a punch and I’m too afraid to try.

The testicular pain forces me into waking up at about ten o’clock in the morning, a full hour and a half before my alarm is set to go off. And I went to bed early. So that kind of pissed me off. My balls didn’t really hurt, either, though there was that residual sense of pain, like when you get punched, pinned down, stabbed, or shot in a dream and that phantom sensation lingers after you awaken. In other words, I don’t think it was an actual, physical sensation that then got incorporated into the dream, but rather vice versa.

I wondered what the message behind this dream could be, though, and what I immediately thought was:

“You can’t reason with some people. You can’t talk your way out of some situations. You need to learn to fight, to get physical. To take care of yourself. To defend yourself. To grow some balls.”

And given my balls, or at the very least my scrotum, played a rather painful role in the dream, I have to imagine it had some meaning. There are other possibilities as to its meaning, of course — fertility, sex drive — but power, confidence, courage, the ability to defend oneself, it makes the most sense in this context, methinks.

Maybe ADHD.

For years, I had my suspicions, though I never really looked into it, partially because I feared being right. Then a video popped up on my YouTube feed recently and I watched it — and subsequently got sucked down a rabbit hole. Hearing the alleged symptoms of ADHD, some of which I had never heard of before, really got me thinking.

Motivational issues. Emotional dysregulation. Distractability and hyperfocus. Daydreaming all day. Sleep issues. Anxiety and depression.

At first I didn’t think the hyperactivity part of the equation fit well until I learned that it can be inverted, particularly in adults — one may not be behaviorally hyperactive, in other words, but mentally hyperactive. In my case, that undoubtedly fits the bill. My brain never shuts up and I daydream all fucking day.

I knew there had to be a test online, but I wanted to make sure it was a test from a legitimate source, so I messaged a girl I know who’s a therapist and she provided me a link. I dodged taking the test for days until I finally sat down and took it. I scored a 40 out of 58. I was one point passed the “Attention Deficit Disorder Possible” camp and one point into the “Attention Deficit Disorder Likely” camp, which is to say that people who answer similarly to me on the test typically qualify for a diagnosis of ADD or ADHD.

Of course, I would have to see a therapist to get a proper diagnosis. And perhaps I don’t have it after all, but if I do and can get on medication, maybe I can get a better grip on my emotions, fire up my focus and motivation and get myself closer to where I fucking should be at 42 years of age.