Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Terrors of 3am
I don't normally share too many personal things on this blog. I don't really know why. But I had another horrific dream last night.
I was in a large, tumble-down mansion. I was looking after a little girl, who is very important to me in real life, and her Great Grandmother and mine were both dying. I was trying to prepare her, and I could feel my heart leaping through my chest because I was trying so hard to stay in control, and strong for her, and I had to keep going into the room to nurse both of them. She was crying and terrified by what was happening and I was desperate to see both elderly women off with peace and love, but I was losing control, and being swarmed by my own feelings, and those of the little girl.
Her Great Grandmother died, and while I was comforting her, my own Grandma put her head under the sheets and fell asleep.
Suddenly the little girls' family arrived and escorted us out. I was running, trying to get outside to throw up, but was ushered into a bathroom at the top of a long staircase. I threw up, and while I was struggling for breath and control, I realised that someone else was in the room. I looked over my shoulder and a man in Victorian dress was sitting on a chair. His face was a gaping hole; like he'd received a terrible injury, and I knew he was a ghost. I got up and tried to run, but the bathroom door was bolted shut.
And then I woke up.
I'm sick to death of these dreams. I hate that I'm finding it increasingly difficult to let them go when the morning comes; like it's some-kind of personal failing, some weakness that they're even impacting me this way. I'm becoming absolutely reticent to close my eyes at night. I want to take my mind out and scrub it clean and re-insert it.
I was in a large, tumble-down mansion. I was looking after a little girl, who is very important to me in real life, and her Great Grandmother and mine were both dying. I was trying to prepare her, and I could feel my heart leaping through my chest because I was trying so hard to stay in control, and strong for her, and I had to keep going into the room to nurse both of them. She was crying and terrified by what was happening and I was desperate to see both elderly women off with peace and love, but I was losing control, and being swarmed by my own feelings, and those of the little girl.
Her Great Grandmother died, and while I was comforting her, my own Grandma put her head under the sheets and fell asleep.
Suddenly the little girls' family arrived and escorted us out. I was running, trying to get outside to throw up, but was ushered into a bathroom at the top of a long staircase. I threw up, and while I was struggling for breath and control, I realised that someone else was in the room. I looked over my shoulder and a man in Victorian dress was sitting on a chair. His face was a gaping hole; like he'd received a terrible injury, and I knew he was a ghost. I got up and tried to run, but the bathroom door was bolted shut.
And then I woke up.
I'm sick to death of these dreams. I hate that I'm finding it increasingly difficult to let them go when the morning comes; like it's some-kind of personal failing, some weakness that they're even impacting me this way. I'm becoming absolutely reticent to close my eyes at night. I want to take my mind out and scrub it clean and re-insert it.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Chanel Paris Bombay Collection 2012
Fantastic, fantastic!! Chanel's makeup maestro, Peter Philips, is a genius.
Indian headpieces!! I've collected them for years; this is just fuel for my fire :)
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Dream
I've had a recurring dream for a while.
I'm on a beach, a very long beach. I'm walking toward cliffs at the end of the beach.
I need to get there to be 'safe'. I'm wearing a huge gown. It's Victorian; corseted and white. And the tide comes in and drenches the gown. I start running, but I'm weighed down with water. I have to keep going to get to the cliffs; the water is swarming around me and I'm sobbing trying to gather all my skirts and keep moving forward.
I usually wake up at this point. Sweaty and scared.
I relayed this dream, and it's possible psychosis, to my beloved Anna tonight.
And she said:
'Darling: you could take off the dress.'
Yes. I could. I could shed it all.
Sobbing; I let it go.
I'm on a beach, a very long beach. I'm walking toward cliffs at the end of the beach.
I need to get there to be 'safe'. I'm wearing a huge gown. It's Victorian; corseted and white. And the tide comes in and drenches the gown. I start running, but I'm weighed down with water. I have to keep going to get to the cliffs; the water is swarming around me and I'm sobbing trying to gather all my skirts and keep moving forward.
I usually wake up at this point. Sweaty and scared.
I relayed this dream, and it's possible psychosis, to my beloved Anna tonight.
And she said:
'Darling: you could take off the dress.'
Yes. I could. I could shed it all.
Sobbing; I let it go.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Enough of this jibber jabber!
Right! I've made an executive decision that my distress must end now, regardless of whether it wants to or not. Bam!
Let's talk nails. I have a small obsession with fly gal nails. Gwen Stefani started it, Beyonce solidified it, and the total genius Sophy Robson has made them de rigour for the runway...she's also single-handedly responsible for me incessantly referring to just about everything as 'fly'.
I used to be a nail snob and went through dark periods of ripping off my acrylics and keeping my nails all indie and short and dark or natural. But my true self always wins out and I'll snap and bolt for a salon to have them re-applied. Can't help it. I like that they make one look uber glam (I keep mine long, oval and burgundy mostly), and I love it when I see someone wearing some freak nails with loads of glitter and little things stuck on. It's the 'kook factor' I think. Plus...Dolly Parton. Enough said.
Things I also love include the conversations that go down over the file machine:
Nail Technician: 'Why you no marry?'
Rianna: 'Dunno'
NT: 'You wanna get marry?'
R: 'Hell yeah!'
NT: 'You want sparkle gel?'
R: 'Yes pleeeeeeease!'
Let's talk nails. I have a small obsession with fly gal nails. Gwen Stefani started it, Beyonce solidified it, and the total genius Sophy Robson has made them de rigour for the runway...she's also single-handedly responsible for me incessantly referring to just about everything as 'fly'.
I used to be a nail snob and went through dark periods of ripping off my acrylics and keeping my nails all indie and short and dark or natural. But my true self always wins out and I'll snap and bolt for a salon to have them re-applied. Can't help it. I like that they make one look uber glam (I keep mine long, oval and burgundy mostly), and I love it when I see someone wearing some freak nails with loads of glitter and little things stuck on. It's the 'kook factor' I think. Plus...Dolly Parton. Enough said.
Things I also love include the conversations that go down over the file machine:
Nail Technician: 'Why you no marry?'
Rianna: 'Dunno'
NT: 'You wanna get marry?'
R: 'Hell yeah!'
NT: 'You want sparkle gel?'
R: 'Yes pleeeeeeease!'
Images via HOT MESS.
Feeling better already :)
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Beautiful.
One of my most favourite photographs ever. I love that I can endlessly imagine what she said to him; just before she pressed her head against his chest, and felt his arm go around her and pull her in to safety. What he said in response.
It's so perfect to me. It's more than perfect to me.
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