Lisa Kudrow's opossum: dream analysis

Here's the original iteration of the dream:

Lisa Kudrow was sharing my apartment with her children (two sisters, pre-teen, who reminded me of two of my former choristers). We had a couple of cats and she had a pet opossum.   I asked the girls "Where do you sleep here?" And they said in the back bedroom (I couldn't remember if there was one bed or two). Then I asked Lisa if her opossum was litter trained. We found out that it was not: Lisa told me that she would just eat the opossum poop as she found it. It was at that point that Lisa popped some possum poop in my mouth. 

I found that revolting and went to try to pick up the opossum turds myself. Realizing this wasn't the most sanitary thing, I meant to wash my hands. My apartment turned into my childhood home and I went to go to the basement to use the utility sink. Access to the basement was near my mother's bedroom door.   Mom was in her housecoat and was in full terror, glowering and yelling at me for Christ knows what. This made me upset. I went to go to the basement but she (or somebody) had placed a bucket midway down on the steps, blocking access. She became increasingly belligerent. I  grabbed her arm and became physically threatening towards her.   She somehow faded out of the dream and some adolescent boys showed up in the bedroom and one started masturbating on her bed (reminded me of a high school crush).   

I was freaked out and went outside to wipe the opossum poop on the front lawn, where my father (as a young man), lay supine, gazing at the clouds. Wiping the opossum poop on the grass made it worse; somebody (maybe my father) came by in a lawnmower and flung grass and poop and anything in its wake all over the place.  Then other hot young guys brought in candy bars, one of them, a commemorative edition that was the size of a blanket: a brownie enrobed in chocolate. I knew it was a lot of food.

Now I'll analyze the dream in sections with what I think is happening subconsciously

Lisa Kudrow was sharing my apartment with her children (two sisters, pre-teen, who reminded me of two of my former choristers). We had a couple of cats and she had a pet opossum.

The premise of this is interesting enough- I never even watched Friends but I get that she’s an affable famous person who is beautiful and funny.

I asked the girls "Where do you sleep here?" And they said in the back bedroom (I couldn't remember if there was one bed or two). Then I asked Lisa if her opossum was litter trained. We found out that it was not: Lisa told me that she would just eat the opossum poop as she found it. It was at that point that Lisa popped some possum poop in my mouth.

There’s a lot of bad boundaries here and I’m trying not to take myself to task: I would like to mindfully make a place for my inner children and make sure they are well cared for. In this iteration of my dream, I am aware that the children, Lisa, and myself are rather like the cats and opossum – kind of feral.

I found that revolting and went to try to pick up the opossum turds myself. Realizing this wasn't the most sanitary thing, I meant to wash my hands. My apartment turned into my childhood home and I went to go to the basement to use the utility sink. Access to the basement was near my mother's bedroom door.

WHY do I not get the opossum turd of my mouth? Graham posited that it was some kind of “place holder,” and he may be onto something, like an oral fixation. I was more worried about property damage (getting the turds off the floor- again reflecting on externals), getting the turds off my hands (again, external, fear of spreading through contact), but least concerned about what I imbibe. This is telling about a need for attention to self-care. I could have taken immediate control of the situation.

At this point in this iteration, I also have not held Lisa accountable for anything: not for her opossum, not for her lack of concern for it, and most remarkably, not for her assault. She put an animal turd in my mouth in cold blood. She was unaccountable for it.

Mom was in her housecoat and was in full terror, glowering and yelling at me for Christ knows what. This made me upset. I went to go to the basement but she (or somebody) had placed a bucket midway down on the steps, blocking access. She became increasingly belligerent. I grabbed her arm and became physically threatening towards her.

Mom was visually and verbally upsetting. She did not physically harm me. She certainly didn’t put an opossum turd in my mouth. She is my parent, in an unattractive external manifestation, but her indignity at what has transpired is not only real, but justified. She has not learned to defend. She has only learned to protest and complain. I have a record of other abuses that have transpired between us, but taking in the facts just present in this scene, she is only guilty of giving shitty looks and being verbally belligerent. And it is to her that I use my physical strength in an act of self-defense that more correctly belongs leveled against Lisa Kudrow.

She somehow faded out of the dream and some adolescent boys showed up in the bedroom and one started masturbating on her bed (reminded me of a high school crush).

So instead of seeking justice against Lisa Kudrow, let’s have a distraction. Sex. Distracting, yes. Helpful, no.

I was freaked out and went outside to wipe the opossum poop on the front lawn, where my father (as a young man), lay supine, gazing at the clouds. Wiping the opossum poop on the grass made it worse; somebody (maybe my father) came by in a lawnmower and flung grass and poop and anything in its wake all over the place.

So try to wipe rather than cleanse (with turd still in my mouth). My father is checked out. And a lawnmower only spreads it out to the four winds. Again- not helpful.

Then other hot young guys brought in candy bars, one of them, a commemorative edition that was the size of a blanket: a brownie enrobed in chocolate. I knew it was a lot of food.

More distractions from hot suitors with food. This rings familiar.

END

Now I'll retell the dream again and create appropriate, empowering responses. And I may improve this in the future as well. 

Lisa Kudrow was sharing my apartment with her children (two sisters, pre-teen, who reminded me of two of my former choristers). We had a couple of cats and she had a pet opossum.

OK, this is the set-up.

I asked the girls "Where do you sleep here?" And they said in the back bedroom (I couldn't remember if there was one bed or two). Then I asked Lisa if her opossum was litter trained. We found out that it was not: Lisa told me that she would just eat the opossum poop as she found it. It was at that point that Lisa popped some possum poop in my mouth.

Let me spend time with the girls and create a beautiful, safe, nurturing space for them. It’s my dream- I can create a fantastic room for them or even two rooms or even their own cottage on the property.

I tell Lisa Kudrow that that opossum had better be litter trained. Lisa Kudrow needs to leave. Lisa Kudrow is not my friend. It was within my right to SPIT OUT THE TURD. I didn’t have to look ”good” in front of Lisa Kudrow. I needed to be real and respected in front of Lisa Kudrow. End of that scene.

I found that revolting and went to try to pick up the opossum turds myself. Realizing this wasn't the most sanitary thing, I meant to wash my hands. My apartment turned into my childhood home and I went to go to the basement to use the utility sink. Access to the basement was near my mother's bedroom door.

Now that Lisa Kudrow has been removed, I will use her rent deposit to hire a maid to clean up the apartment.

Mom was in her housecoat and was in full terror, glowering and yelling at me for Christ knows what. This made me upset. I went to go to the basement but she (or somebody) had placed a bucket midway down on the steps, blocking access. She became increasingly belligerent. I grabbed her arm and became physically threatening towards her.

I will say to Mom, “Why are you giving me the side-eye? Do you want to talk about something? I’m sorry if you’re having a bad day. Let’s talk when you’re feeling better.”

She somehow faded out of the dream and some adolescent boys showed up in the bedroom and one started masturbating on her bed (reminded me of a high school crush).

No need for sexual acting out. Problem solved a couple paragraphs ago.

I was freaked out and went outside to wipe the opossum poop on the front lawn, where my father (as a young man), lay supine, gazing at the clouds. Wiping the opossum poop on the grass made it worse; somebody (maybe my father) came by in a lawnmower and flung grass and poop and anything in its wake all over the place.

Dad is in his own world. I don’t need him because I’ve solved problem. Self-compassion is the opposite of learned helplessness. Say that big:

Self-Compassion beats learned helplessness

Then other hot young guys brought in candy bars, one of them, a commemorative edition that was the size of a blanket: a brownie enrobed in chocolate. I knew it was a lot of food.

You can share these with the hotties and you won’t need to binge, you know why? Self-compassion trumps learned helplessness.

END