Chest Hair

A few weeks back, my Russian had a long chest hair. I think it might have been one of his first ones. His best friend saw it, because I asked him to look at it. I was excited by the one hair because it makes me think about potentialMy Russian seemed uncomfortable with the hair, and so I plucked it with my finger tips. Then he exclaimed that maybe it would be the only chest hair that he’d ever have. I shook my head at him and kissed him, a sign not to worry so much about it; that I didn’t care about the hair or no hair on his body.

In my dream, he had a full chest of hair. Long, dark curls covered him. I was grossed out and asked him to get rid of it. He wouldn’t. Instead, he showed everyone his hair and was holding a grudge with me for pulling that one hair. He beamed at what he looked like now.



The Play

My Russian was in a play. The stage was light brightly. He was rolling in bed with a blonde woman, a cheat I had not expected. I asked him why he decided to cheat on me. He claimed that he wasn’t. It was a play, and he was only acting a part.


Doll Theft

I was with my Russian. We were at a church setting, a gathering, but it was actually at the college I graduated from. There were many people there, and they started to talk about abortion. The people were going to show what abortion actually did the body of the fetus, but my Russian stole the doll from the speaker. He started to run away with it. I ran after him and was yelling at him, my attempt to persuade him to return the doll. I didn’t want him to get arrested for such a thing as stealing a doll. My Russian ignored me but a guard finally did stop him. The guard was standing on a deck that curved around sharply. The guard was holding a paper bag in his hands. The bag had a burger in it, and my Russian finally dropped the toy and he didn’t get arrested for petty theft.


Identity and Death

I have a new boyfriend; well, by “new” I mean we have only been dating since August and therefore not a year yet. Still, the relationship is a good one. We have a lot in common. We are both foreigners, he is Russian while I am Romanian. I had one of my first dreams about him right after the New Year. In my blog, he will simply be called, “The Russian.”

Part One:

We were discussing and arguing about our heritages and the uniqueness of each of them. I told him that I have to accept my Romanian side because I cannot run away from it. I cannot outsmart my past. I told him that he must act on the same impulse himself. He nodded at me in understanding.

Part Two:

I was attending a new university. I believe it was Western Washington University, and I was on a campus tour. The woman leading the tour was continuously discussing an “old” professor. By the way she was discussing him, I knew that he was dead and his death happened recently. I decided to ask the woman about him and inquired, “What had really happened to him?”

She explained to me that he had been fighting a custody battle for his three sons. He had unfortunately lost the battle and decided to commit suicide. He shot himself, but I am unclear in my dream as to if it was in his head or his heart.

While she was saying this, she was caught up in emotion. I could feel it spilling out of her, and it caught in my throat like a lump. I gasped at her, in shock of her telling me so blatantly. I then apologized and said that I shouldn’t have asked. She said it wasn’t a problem, but then she asked to be excused and rushed off to the restroom.


Professor’s Thanksgiving 

There was a huge gate and fence surrounding a building. This metal fence had locks all over it. The fence was protecting a house full of cats. There was even a river running between the entryway of the house and the gate. There were homeless women near the entryway of the gate, on the outside, looking in towards the house. A female professor was talking to the women and insisting on all the reasons why they should come for Thanksgiving. The women end up leaving, insisting they would be too much of a burden. The professor doesn’t like this answer and decides to follow the three women. Before they leave, I make eye contact with one of the women. I recognized her, but she left before I could say anything.


Wheels on our heads

​We were caught in a world hidden from us. Sheltered. Our bodies had been altered. A wheel placed on the back of our head like a hard pillow. This was so they could wheel us away if we passed out. Sarah Michelle Gellar was there and telling us not to take off the wheel because we didn’t know what it granted us. Citizenship, and freedom. I took mine off and threw it in an arena. One like at a baseball game. I left and went to a party, a meeting. It seemed I was at school and I sat at the desk. The rectangle desks became more round. I looked behind me to hear the man talking. First I drank some sort of orange juice with oreo cookie chunks in it. He was saying that there was a whole world out there that we need to explore. Nobody listened but I looked at him and pointed to my left ear. I mouthed the words that I am listening. I hoped nobody understood my signing, and he seemed to look nervous. We bolted from the room. We went past Sarah and kept going through jungle leaves downhill towards the gate of freedom. I worried about my citizenship and if I should have shaved the back of my head in order to see the bolt holes. I kept running.