Oh God, I had nightmares about homelessness again. That hasn’t happened in several months. I am so tired. I won’t be of much use today and I won’t be able to get anything done until I take a nap. Oh, my head hurts. I was staying in a nasty motel (how temporary is that!) with my ex-husband, Sexy Beast – except that he was acting somewhat like my second ex-husband, Driftwood. We had been running around, trying to chase my cat which had somehow changed into a chicken, and we drove back to the motel to wait out the hours until the cat would change back. We arrived at the motel at 5 AM. The door was open and the landlord was packing up/stealing my stuff! Apparently, it was my last day and I had to empty the room and vacate by 9 AM. I assured him I could do it and I went in to get started.
There were dozens of wooden cupboards in the kitchen room. My plan was to make a layer of glass kitchenware items in the back of the station wagon/hearse (Yes, hearse!) and top it off with a layer of clothes, of which there seemed to be tons. I started emptying the cabinets and little gnats flew up and bit me all over my arms, covering me with swollen welts. Then there were fire ants and creepy-crawly things. Everything was biting me. Sexy Beast was just standing there: Duh. I asked him to help me and he did. Actually, he was very efficient. I was sorting through a lot of the same crap that I have in storage right now, asking myself “Would I take this to Israel?” – that was the only way I found to get rid of shit that I had saved for years. Seriously, would I pay to crate it up and ship it to Israel – or should I let it go? Would it clutter my new home in Israel or was it something special that I loved?
In the dream, I was watching the wall clock and the job was taking too long. I would never make the deadline and I was going to lose so many possessions, maybe stuff I would need, like kitchenware or basic clothing. I hate that feeling. I was having these same dreams after I filed for divorce from Driftwood and was waiting for a ruling. [I’m homeless. I’m poor. I’m without basic necessities. I have to start over again without the stuff that I used to think was important.] And I felt foolish again, foolish for thinking any of the “stuff” was valuable or precious. Really, when I took a good look at the possessions that I was carting around in the back of my station wagon as I travelled from temporary home to temporary home, none was worth keeping. It was being a burden to me. A burden I was extremely afraid of losing. Why did I have so much fear of loss when letting go made me feel relaxed?
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