Monday, 21 September 2009

Life on land

In the beginning, when we moved aboard Bika and sailed to the north of Norway, we both had a lot of nightmares about security offshore. We’d sleep in the forepeak and then suddenly bolt up for a quick look-out through the forehatch. We both did this at least once. It’s the kind of thing that makes you feel stupid in a marina.

We had some similar problems with transition when we returned onshore this summer. I got disturbing dreams about ghosts, or black birds; the house felt like an unsafe place to be.

I was
also the only one getting obsessively drunk at a family party. “What kind of person are you?” Nina asked. I honestly didn’t know. It didn’t strike me as anything odd.

I dreamt that I had this huge black bird in the house. I would chase it outside, through the open door, but then it would be another one waiting inside.

In July we were back at my sister’s place. I’d already said that I was more of a tea-person, when asked if I wanted coffee, and then, half a minute later, I reported that I was more of a cat-person, when asked if I liked dogs.

She wanted us to take care of their dog for a couple of weeks. It was a nice dog, but it seemed a bit sad. I’d walk into the woods. The dog kept looking down at the ground, towards the grass, at the tiny sticks.

I later dreamt about a dog we saw at Yale University (or in one of the surrounding buildings). I sat next to a stuffed dog in a display case, and because of all the people, neither me nor Nina noticed the dog at first. I felt bad about this in my dream. I bent down on my knees and tried to feed the dog through the glass. It was futile. I wanted to break the glass but was afraid of making a scene, although I felt certain the poor dog would die of hunger.