Boating

Last night I dreamt that my father, my partner, and several of our friends, embarked on a journey, traveling in this massive ship. The setting was someplace very warm, with crystal clear, calm, waters. Everyone was trusting anyone. We all took turns navigating and manning the ship.

After a long travel, we eventually ran into some natives from this land, and the time came where we had to switch from this large ship to a smaller boat. No one was upset by this, it was simply part of our adventure. I remember the feeling of the ship making this enormous turn, it felt as if it could simply roll over. My dad was laughing nervously, as this could have been a catastrophe had the ship rolled. I remember thinking that even if it were to toss us recklessly into the ocean, the water was warm and clear, and a swim would not be so bad. I was very confident that we would not be seriously hurt.

As with most dreams, all of a sudden I am the first one who has been transferred to the smaller boat we will take the rest of our travels in. I am sitting at the very front of the boat- it was almost like an over sized canoe, white in color- and it is wildly bobbing from side to side. It is spinning. My tummy has butterflies, flying madly around. I am not scared though. I close my eyes, and enjoy the ride. The others are still on the large ship, and are shouting to me how strong I am to not be scared. They are laughing- but not at me, with me. I can hear their shouts of encouragement to hold on, the giddy laughter, with my eyes closed. I can feel my body- left, right, left, right,- this boat is still bobbing from side to side. I open my eyes, the water is still very clear below me, and I know it is warm. I think again, a swim would be welcomed, thus, so what if this boat throws me over?

I don't think I ever land in the water, I eventually wake up. There is another part, later in my dream, I remember now, where I am concerned that my partner has been let down by my father, and this distresses me. My father was to take him to a football game- he promised- yet it never happened. I told him that my partner gets let down all to often, and he better make it up to him. When I confess my protection and advocacy to my partner, he is angered, and walks away. We are at our old high school, he is walking ahead of me, and as we get back on the boat, I feel as if everything will still be OK, despite his embarrassment over my advocacy on his behalf.

Frustrating....

I am currently enrolled in a course which focuses on the short stories of Margaret Atwood and Raymond Carver. It is a course designed to thoughtfully consider the meaning behind the stories, which I thought would be a great break from textbookey academia. I was wrong.

At least with a course based on theory and fact, there are right and wrong answers. Apparently, for the other students in the class, this is the case. My interpretations- despite the fact that others agree with me, and are congratulated on their efforts while I am told I need to dig deeper- are scrutinized and criticized to a point where I do not even feel like participating. There are only three students, and I have been the one singled out, which is very frustrating.

If the purpose is to study the material and conclude the meanings based on our own observations, which will be affected by our past experience and background, I do not understand why there is a definitive right answer. Well, only in my responses that seem to be the case. At one point I mentioned that I suppose everyone has their own opinions, to which I was told that really was not true, there was a right answer. Then, moments later, the students and myself learn that there are many different critiques with many different theories on the interpretation of these short stories. Needless to say, I scream internally.

Courses like this are difficult anyway, bringing me back to my days in high school. How are we to know for sure that the author meant anything more than what is printed on the page? How am I to enjoy a story when it takes me two hours to get through ten pages because I have now become neurotic about looking up every reference, to find a clue about the correct interpretation? Also, and I am not being disrespectful, but Carver was an alcoholic, who admittedly spent much of his time drunk. We all babble incessantly when we are drunk, and more times than not, without much thought or purpose. Of course I can not say that in class.... Although I did.