dreams again

First one I recall had a weird feel, something like the north Birmingham of my youth (near my maternal grandmother's house) mixed with Stone Mountain. Something about me was ominously different; a curse, or something that made me nigh immortal, hard to kill, and something a touch removed or tragic. There was a gathering of people on a rocky outcrop, like a picnic or to watch something(?). Someone was talking about 'buy one, get one', an idea to which I'd been exposed and suggested to use as a conversational entry, so I was called over to talk to the slim German woman talking about it. As we were talking, I realized she (and a lot of others) were sitting under the cover of a low, large jutting cliff or balanced stone, and it made me very claustrophobic. I crawled out, just in time for it to collapse. With sudden urgency, I pounded on the rocky debris with the butt of my rifle(??), then began shooting the rocks to break them into smaller pieces only I could lift. The German woman eventually emerged, unhurt, and I realized she had become similarly nigh immortal and hard to kill, but by accident rather than whatever tragedy had befallen me.

Second dream I was in a large brick hotel/dorm complex. There was a large party in a public area, and at one point I'd wandered away looking for a restroom. I passed a very scantily clad dark skinned brunette woman, but she somehow avoided me in a way that suggested she was a part of another narrative. I found a restroom, but my eyes weren't working well, and I had trouble determining if it said 'men' or 'women' on the door. Based on number of characters, I thought it was the former and went in, but it was laid out like a women's restroom. I went back out, and somehow the door said 'ladies'. I managed to get out before anyone noticed.

I returned to the party and ended up near a strange, intense bunch of folks trying to work some phone/gambling system. The central figure was making insane, crazy predictions, they would make bets by phone or lottery, and then they'd win. It became clear by their conversation that they were all advanced math students, and the central figure was a complex systems theory genius who'd stumbled onto a pattern. As they got more and more caught up in the unbelievable predictions (some weird misfortune, weather, accident, etc. regarding sporting events), two of them peeled off and got romantic, and one pretty pale redhead with wide features ended up near me. We started talking, about math, and it became clear that the brunette in the hall may not have been in my narrative, but the redhead had just very much become so, and we very much hit it off. Math played a curious, strong part of the attraction.

breaking character

k_navit recently asked me why I bothered to retain any contact with my family when they treat me so poorly and appear to offer little I value. It was a good question, and one I've considered myself frequently over the years. My answer, and the answer I gave her in person, is that if there is to be an end to things with them, I don't want it to be because things have been allowed to drift and slowly fade; if there is to be an end, I want it to be because I ended it, said what I need to say and then walked away.

That's been my reason for years now, and I meant it, or at least thought I did. I probably did. But after this last time, even though it was way better than many previous family engagements, I'm not sure I can do it any more. I'm not sure I have it in me to sit politely while my requests and preferences are either ignored or forgotten, trumped by laziness or possibly the fear of being socially uncomfortable. I'm tired of being the unspoken secret, assuming anyone bothers to remember. I'm tired of giving even tacit support to the idea that these are my people, my place, where I belong. If this and all previous engagements are any indication, they're not my people, and it is no longer my place to beg for scraps from them.

It sounds like my mind is made up, doesn't it? And it's probably closer than I've ever been. But instead of feeling triumphant, or even righteously indignant, I feel... scared. Sad, hollow, bereft. It feels like I'm on the threshold of truly being outcast, of truly being alien from the one place we're all supposed to be able to go when chips are down. It doesn't matter that it's not true for a lot of people, or that it hasn't been true for me for a long, long time; what matters is that at the moment I'm prepared to walk away, I suddenly have a new take on what it is I'm dangerously close to leaving.

They won't understand. Honestly, I don't think many people will. It will be taken as me doing the rejecting, not finally dealing with the conditional rejection I've gotten all along. That bothers me, but I think I can learn to live with it. What really bothers me, though, is that I'll be pulling back the curtain, exposing the story of family as a place of belonging, of open doors and a place by the fire, as a story, and that, I fear, will be the unforgivable sin, not just with my family, but with anyone else who still partakes in that story. I worry that I'll become even more alienated for speaking the unspeakable, and that is a hard, bitter burden to pick up when it already feels like I'm carrying way, way more alienation than is my share.

But, I don't think I can do this much longer.