I should add a category in my blog for anxiety dreams. It is my mission to inflict my subconscious on my readers. Hi Cindy! Hi Amy!
Those of you who are sporting ink, don’t get mad at me. I suspect that there are more of you (inked) than there are of me (not-inked).
PERSONAL CHOICES PEOPLE!
I just don’t trust myself to not gain 100 pounds and then lose it and then gain it and then lose it and end up with a really saggy looking tattoo.
Back to my dream. I was in a tattoo parlor getting a tattoo somewhere, I honestly don’t remember but I think it was discrete, when the artist said, “Hey! I could do a massive floral garland across your chest, what do you think?”
And I was like, “Sure!” Kind of like the way I was with Cara when she asked me if I would dog sit a Great Dane and now I am saddled with the dumbest, fartiest dog ever.
While I’m a planner, I don’t always think things through all the way. I tend to get an idea in my head and leap without looking. So far this strategy has worked for me, hence my husband, my kids, blog and yes, even my stupid dog.
But in the dream it all went bad. In dream-like fashion, the tattoo instantly showed up on my chest and while it was very pretty (red roses draped across my chest from shoulder to shoulder) I had a major freak-out … while trying to be polite to the artist. I wish I could be assertive, if only in my dreams.
I stood there looking in the mirror saying, “Oh it’s so pretty.” while thinking, how much hurt am I going to be in trying to laser this fucker off my boobs. When she wasn’t looking, I put my hands over the tattoos and thought, “Look how nice my chest is without out it,” and felt forlorn and stupid.
Turlington’s Lower Back Tattoo Remover
Obviously this is an anxiety dream that has to do with my fear of living with the consequences of poor decisions. I also am feeling my age, for better or for worse, and coming to grips with the fact that I am becoming invisible to younger people around me.
This is okay, it’s about time that I stop basing my value on who finds my face and my body attractive and start focusing on people that appreciate my voice and perspective.
I feel like the mother of a five year-old who wants her child to be appreciated for her mind and not her pretty dress or long eyelashes, who wants her to just be a kid and play without inhibition. I am both mother and child.
At the same time, I feel like my hiatus from pole dancing has distanced me from my body. I miss that connection that I had, that awareness and pride of accomplishment. I am looking forward to renewing my commitment to pole (starting today, I have a performance to train for) and getting back inside my body so I can feel more like me again.
I realize this is all over the place. “I want to be appreciated for my brain!” but “I gotta get back on the pole!” seem like disparate statements but they aren’t. I pole dance for myself, to feel connected to my sisters, to have a place where I fit.
I never really wrote about it, but I was distraught when I left the Boulder studio. There simply aren’t that many safe places to dance and feel free and not judged. I had a whole group of women I felt were my sisters and I suddenly became the outcast, the invisible one.
In retrospect it was a good thing, my reasons for leaving were sound and I redirected that energy into my home, family and writing, which has been transformational, but I’m not good at break-ups. I get hurt, I hide, I slink away under a rock and ponder all the ways in which it must be all my fault.
I want to put all the negativity to rest and start fresh. I want to dance again, I want to teach again, I want to be a part of something positive that makes people feel good about themselves and me about myself. I’m starting by hosting the POLEder Boulder this year, check it out. Everyone is welcome.
Okay, time to cut the crap.
Receipts to Scan-Bam-Thank-You-Ma’am.
A little mismatched Melmac bowl. DONATE.
Random crap I found a the bottom of a filing cabinet. TRASH.
Featured image courtesy of epicawesome.com