What's with the art-related dreams lately? Last night I had two very intense dreams relating directly and indirectly to art and - unfortunately - an ex-boyfriend and a wishful thinker. In the first one, I received an angry e-mail from V's girlfriend, who completely ambushed me with insults and false allegations. Now, in reality I did hang out a lot with this guy this past spring, and he certainly made no secret of the fact that he was attracted to me and wanted to fast-forward to something bigger. But - as in the dream - it never worked out, mainly because he is the General Manager of the local arts & culture weekly paper here in Ottawa and I didn't want it to seem like I was hooking up for the wrong reasons, and especially because I knew he had an off-on again relationship with this girl in Montreal. However, in my dream he had apparently told the MTL girl that I had seduced him into cheating on her, and I was so angry by her letter that I staked him out and spent much of the dream just hurling insults at him and telling him to get his own life sorted out without involving me it. It was quite satisfying, as I had the pleasure of having him cower away red-faced and apologetic, and when I glanced behind me and saw Manon's Ruby painting, I decided to grab it off the wall and toss it at him in fury. In a Buddhist's embarassment, it was actually quite fun to lash out and pelt him with the canvas. I can't help what happens in my unconscious - can I?

In the other dream, I remembered the Derek Quinlan painting that I bought for my ex - three weeks before we broke up, I might add - and was overwhelmed once again by a sense of self-righteousness and anger. I found my way to his home and marched right in to confront him about the piece. Why didn't you ever put it on the wall after I gave it to you? Where is it now? Have you given it to someone else? Is it hiding in a closet? Show it to me! No actually, I want it back. I paid $350 for it and had it specially commissioned for you, but you don't even see a shred of value in it and never did! This is art!, I yelled as I cornered him indignantly. But when I woke up shortly after 3 a.m., I had to recognize that this particular dream was quite true-to-life in terms of my hurt feelings about the painting and what it represents to me, which I never expressed to him after he left. With nothing to look at but the darkened silhouette of my window, I had to admit: it isn't about the art - it's about me.

But it's nearly noon and, despite the dreams, I've been in a surprisingly good mood today. Lately my dreams have felt useful instead of useless, as though they allow me to explore and live out emotions and situations that feel necessary, while providing closure once my alarm clock rings. And I suppose it doesn't hurt that I've been walking off victorious in most of them, of course!