Gratuitous Self-Analysis Posting

I had quite a vivid dream about my father last night. In it, I was scheduled to go to some kind of military training camp and was supposed to travel there by train. The train station was just across the street from my house. As I heard the whistle of the train approaching the station, I suddenly remembered that I hadn't packed yet and began pulling clothes out of my chest of drawers. However, I quickly realized that there was no chance of getting everything together and getting to the station before the train pulled out. After a brief moment of panic, I got hold of myself and said, "Well, why not just drive to the camp? I can get there faster, in fact, and I'll have my car with me. So it all works out for the best."

Meanwhile, Dad somehow appeared in the room. He saw that I wasn't packed and had missed the train, and immediately flew into a temper, shouting things like, "You screwed up! Jaysus, what in da Christ is the matter with you?" I, in turn, started shouting back at him that if he'd only shut up for a moment he'd see that everything was fine, that it was taken care of and that there was no problem after all. He didn't stop to listen, but kept on yelling, as did I.

I woke up still shouting.

Ah, my thrifty Scots subconscious - serving up issues in a bleeding obvious way so that I don't have to waste money on a shrink! Hoots! Toots!

Anyhoo, I write about this in part because it's the first dream I've had about Dad since he died and in part because it has only recently occurred to me how wearing his death has been, how drained of energy I've felt most of this year. As I've mentioned before - and as my dream pretty well illustrates - I was never close with the man, so I didn't have that big cathartic emotional release when he died. Instead, it's been a long, slow bleed. And, despite the warnings that plenty of people gave me, I've frankly been surprised at how much his death has affected me. I suppose this is one of those things, like having kids, that you can't really understand until you've been through it yourself.

I've also begun to better appreciate how all this has affected other parts of my life. In effect, I've circled the wagons, crouching into a protective huddle, cutting corners, getting by with the minimum and just trying to conserve my resources. This is why, for example, I haven't been much involved in the ongoing Episcopal civil war of late, much to the dismay of some of my co-parishioners. I must say that it's also fortunate that I'm in government practice at the moment, as I have not had to deal with a frenetic workload. And it's certainly had an effect on my blogging, keeping me skating along on the surface and not getting myself too committed about anything, either intellectually or emotionally. (My apologies if this annoys you.) I've not been especially satisfied with myself about this withdrawal, but on the other hand part of me also says that I should cut myself some slack. I suspect my dream ties into that conflict, as well as to the long-standing problems with Dad.

I assume that all of this is perfectly normal and that it will eventually go away. Indeed the fact that I've realized what is happening and am beginning to get somewhat impatient with myself about it suggests that the period of this, what, mourning funk? memoriam drift? is coming to an end. I'll be going on vacation in a few weeks' time and have begun to think of that as the marker, the point after which I can come back more fully into the world, refreshed and renewed.

(Doctor: Now vee may perhaps to begin, yes?)