bridgeville nightmare

my dreams are integrated and woven. small pieces and segments are echoing and fading fast. the shells of them are calling me to pay attention to what is happening when i sleep. bishop’s pizza in my dream. they asked me the name. i said bishop’s. i passed a place called bishop’s pizza while driving to ohiopyle sunday. i didn’t stop at bishop’s, but i remembered when i saw it that i knew it from a dream. the name. the path. the way i chose to drive. to direct. to travel. shopping centers. like those plazas stretched out on route 51 on the journey home from ohiopyle. like the one in bridgeville where i sat outside at had tea on a sunny october day, after a three hour long cognitively wearying neuropsych exam. where i walked and listened to albert camus’ the stranger on audiobook through headphones. walked the parking lot. where there was chuck e cheese where i went as a kid. where i practiced parallel parking near the driver’s center. where i used to get my hair cut at fantastic sam’s. where i went to see movies at the theater with r when we were in a relationship together. and also with m. that was a theater i went to with my boyfriends. on dates. i think with friends too. maybe in highschool. and college. the movie theater. family things. the kmart. this time i walked around looking for a mailbox and an atm. i found only the former. and i had a lot of thoughts. flashback memories. less dramatic sometimes, other times wholly dramatic as much as you want. a train went by as i sat outside alone. i sat there as an adult. breathing and soaking sun. eating and sipping. reading reviewing and making lists. listening to an existentialist novella. with my car in the parking lot. i had left it unlocked. the shopping plaza. shopping center. it made me think. i have had another recent dream and it included the shopping center of crafton ingram. the one i grew up near. where my brother k works. where i used to go and spend money on toiletries and cosmetics. one of the first places i could walk to. the first place i tried shoplifting from just to see if i could. and what did it feel like to do. i was with my mom at the time. payless shoes. i think i took a gel insert for a shoe. for some reason i think it was just one though. confusing. i thought about the abandoned house near the farm in garfield that s took me into. and i saw all the cans and jars containing food sealed in the kitchen or what would’ve been a kitchen, the pantry, shelves. and realizing that people have shoplifted a lot of food. that sometimes that’s the way to get things. it can be out of need, out of resistance, out of aggression, out of boredom, and etc. there are motivations. there are many ways to skin a cat. and i suppose reasons to do it. so what does happen when i’m asleep. am i finally ready to connect the sides of my life. dream and wake worlds. the memories. i’m ready to admit the psychoanalysis with lm is stirring me up and bringing another layer into my days my time my life and awareness. i don’t know quite how she’s doing what she’s doing. we talk about how frightening my mom was. and how i survived trauma by her as a child. physical and psychological. and how it was scary and i blocked feelings to survive. and what i did was ok. i was ok, i am ok. i was doing my best. the situation i had at the time was filled with pain and sharp barbs and wires and traps and syringes and caves and ghosts and masks and machines that could kill you.