Summer 2003 (Just separated from husband #2)

Mom wants me to enter Jungian analysis. She just sold our old house on R street, wants to pay for it…up to $10,000 USD. Holy cow.

I’ve written down my dreams for most of my life. For the past 5 years I’ve had a designated Dream Journal. Mom says these dreams could be a key, could help me figure myself out. Not sure exactly why she thinks I need figuring. Well, I suppose I do know.

I found two analysts in this area who are members of the Jungian association. E-mailed the one who has an e-mail address posted in the directory of analysts Jungian. She hasn’t written back.

Went to the used bookstore just across University Ave and found A Primer of Jungian Psychology. The bookseller, owner of the store, couldn’t resist commenting on my selection. He takes issue with Jung for saying UFOs are not real, but a reflection of the archetypes in our collective unconscious. He walked me back to the section filled with dream interpretation handbooks and manuals. Balderdash, says he. One book says a ladder means this, the other books says that. Poppycock. I assure him that I won’t swallow anything hook line and sinker. I’m a questioner, after all. No pre-packaged answers for me, no sir. Not to worry, Mr. Bookstore Man.

I read the primer cover to cover in a couple of days. Devoured it. Jung is my new hero. I feel as if he is a friend sitting with me having a fireside chat. He is a patient listener, always open to learning something new. I like him a great deal.

Jung did not say UFOs don’t exist. He did not consider it to be a problem of psychology to determine if they do or not. No, he left that to the scientists. He concerned himself with humans’ reactions to/perceptions of same.

Carl Jung also did not believe in dream books…catalogs of symbols accompanied by meanings. No, Mr. Bookstore Man, you are mistaken. Jung admonished analysts that each case must be considered in context. What is the dreamer’s sex, religion, age, experience? All of this helps one analyze the symbols in each dreamer’s dreams.

My life is a quiet one now. Thank God. I get up and only Nike is here. The wind is outside. The birds are chattering on the balcony, happy for the seed I sprinkled there the night before. There are traffic noises far below. Motorcycle, the odd siren, dogs barking sometimes.

I give Nike her breakfast and she stops tormenting my dream-woven slumber. I draw a bath. I use bergamot, lemon grass and ylang ylang scented bubbles. Wash my hair with Neutrogena. Shave my legs and armpits every day now; it’s for me now, no longer for a lover.

I have muesli or granola with raisins and wheat germ, but just a small bowl. Trying to lose weight, just in case there should ever be another lover. I put Neutrogena age-defying retinol cream with SPF 15 and vitamin E on my face. It’s $8 a tube. Topical anti-bacterial cream must be rubbed thoroughly into the zit that won’t heal; cortisone 1% I put “sparingly” onto the eczema, the scaly red splotches on my face. Ugh. In my next life I’ll be a cover girl. Ha. I brush my teeth.

Back in the bedroom I look at my fleshy form before the mirror. Put on underwear that didn’t used to look too small on me. Touch my perfect small breasts, one smaller than the other. Admire my nipples, little pink rose buds. I choose my outfit as if choosing paint colours for a canvas. I put on an ankle-length Ecuadoran dress the colour of wasabi, sleeveless with princess seam. Over it I throw the jacket to another ensemble, same Ecuadoran material, but in an orchid colour. Exact value as the wasabi green. My artist mother would approve. I pin an enamel dragonfly to the jacket, thus repeating the wasabi green in the field of orchid, tying the two pieces together. My earrings repeat both the apple green and the purple. Yes, a statement is born. Everyday is begun thus: by putting on a painting, a sculpture, an expression of playful, life-loving me.

I slide into my Naots and step into my long-strapped wallet-sized purse. I’m out the door and to the bus stop 1.5 blocks from the door of my high-rise. I hope Jason is there. I so enjoy discussing with him current events, programming, how we spent our weekends, Noam Chomsky.