The thing I miss most about Mom is sharing coffee and dreams in the morning. She's the one person I could depend on to have a subconscious as surreal and mad as my own. We both were specialists in The Unexplainable Nightmare, dreaming up strange images that, when explained in the light of day, could not convey any sense of fright at all but had stricken us with terror in our sleep. We'd laugh together about our minds.
I dreamt of sculpting class last night. I skipped Sculpting in school, because we all agreed letting a one handed girl kill herself with hammer and chisel was unwise. After that had been agreed, though, a new instructor came. He leaned toward figure work in plasticine stuff on armatures. That was the kind of class I dreamt, only my ceramics instructor was presiding. I was making a self portrait. Everyone else had a model or photo references, but I was looking for a mirror.
I have this residual sense of purpose and rightness about making myself in clay. Taking charge of life and stepping toward a more purposeful path. My back finally unknotted as I dreamed.
I also dreamt I was telling Molly (Big Molly, the clay guru after whom Wee Molly was named) about a cover by Tori Amos of a Kate Bush song. It was Mississippi, one of my favorite songs ever, which in the real world is a Paula Cole song. I would love to hear a Tori version though.