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"You and I don't have the same kind of brain," I hiss at Teri in a dream. She came into the big room while I was doing my thing, pacing about and reading aloud. She asked in an aggressive, peeved manner why I do this. What can I get out of it?
The problem, my problem, is that we do have too much of the same kind of brain. I'm not getting anything out of my reading, nothing real anyway. I am not so dumb that I completely fail to acquire a little more knowledge for my trouble, but not so as to be able to make a profit on it. I really do nothing. I've done it all my life. On the other hand, it was either this, or spending my life working a menial job for next to nothing. I always said that I'd rather have my time, and if I cannot have my life, nobody else can. But I guess I wasn't much of a help to the family.
To put things together here, rehashing, this is why the Dr. G. salvation fantasy has been a big part of my mental life. He sort of represented my last best hope to right my ship. The hope, when I turned over my Old Journal to him in '96, was that he would see that I was smart enough to be living on a better course than the layabout life I was leading, stranded at the family loony bin, and he would get me on track again. But that didn't happen. He apparently thought I was fine where I was, that I was indeed at home.
- - -
While I am doing so much rehashing, this dream has also brought back to mind what a deep disappointment it must have been to Teri, when I came home a failure rather than a lawyer. There is no doubt that she was hoping that I would be uplifting the family lifestyle, even if I branched out to have a life of my own. It must have fueled her sometimes harsh treatment of me - to have expected so much from me and then have to watch me jerk-off my life away. This isn't a new insight, but I often lose track of it.
The problem, my problem, is that we do have too much of the same kind of brain. I'm not getting anything out of my reading, nothing real anyway. I am not so dumb that I completely fail to acquire a little more knowledge for my trouble, but not so as to be able to make a profit on it. I really do nothing. I've done it all my life. On the other hand, it was either this, or spending my life working a menial job for next to nothing. I always said that I'd rather have my time, and if I cannot have my life, nobody else can. But I guess I wasn't much of a help to the family.
To put things together here, rehashing, this is why the Dr. G. salvation fantasy has been a big part of my mental life. He sort of represented my last best hope to right my ship. The hope, when I turned over my Old Journal to him in '96, was that he would see that I was smart enough to be living on a better course than the layabout life I was leading, stranded at the family loony bin, and he would get me on track again. But that didn't happen. He apparently thought I was fine where I was, that I was indeed at home.
- - -
While I am doing so much rehashing, this dream has also brought back to mind what a deep disappointment it must have been to Teri, when I came home a failure rather than a lawyer. There is no doubt that she was hoping that I would be uplifting the family lifestyle, even if I branched out to have a life of my own. It must have fueled her sometimes harsh treatment of me - to have expected so much from me and then have to watch me jerk-off my life away. This isn't a new insight, but I often lose track of it.
