This phenomenon has happened to me before. Has it happened to you? You dream something, then wake up and you're still feeling the emotions brought on by the dream events. Last time it happened to me, I was dreaming about an argument I had in my dream with my father. I woke up, of course the dream ended and I realized it was just a dream, but I still very much felt my heart racing and adrenaline pumping. I was still super pissed off at my dad. Yet it was because of events that never occurred. I logically knew that and realized it was related to the dream events but it still took quite a while for my body responses to calm down. That's how REAL it felt.
This "morning" (aka 8:00 pm last night or so) was exactly like that previous event. Only this time it wasn't my father and I having an argument and me feeling the after-effects, it was a weird little comment my Aunt Connie (my mother's aunt on her mother's side) made in my dream.
First of all let me clarify a few things. My Aunt Connie would never be addressed as "aunt" especially so due to the fact that she was of my grandmother's generation since she was my maternal grandmother's sister. So what's that in English...a Great Aunt I guess? But being brought up in a French-Canadian family, she was referred respectfully as Ma Tante Connie. And apparently, in our family, this carried-down honorific was last reserved for this generation.
My father's sister, Ruth, was never referred to as Ma Tante Ruth although she was indeed that. I think, as far as I can remember, this may have been her preference since she was of the second generation immigrant, along with her brother, my father, who may have tried to assert themselves as American first and foreigner second. This would have been especially more prevalent during the years of their maturation in the midst of the McCarthy-era 1950s when conformity to an idealized, if not outright biased and racist "norm" was fore and front.
Anyway, in my dream, I was at some sort of gathering. At first I didn't recognize it as a family gathering. I just focused on the many delicious food options available. Among these were some crumbles of chocolate mint desert which could be added to coffee. As I reached for this though, it seemed it had somehow changed to crumbles of blueberry torte.
I then noticed that my Ma Tante Connie was seated at the table near me across from my mother. I remarked out loud "Oh, Blueberry Torte! I haven't had this for a while." Connie immediately shoots me a look of death and says: "We will not speak about that!"
Confused, I ask her why. "You embarrassed me greatly with the blueberry torte at Thanksgiving."
I apologized if I had offended her in the past. I reminded her I was an alcoholic and I blacked out a lot of what I did when I was drunk. I said I don't deny what she alleges but I state I don't remember any of it and ensure her I am clean now and beyond that.
And then I woke up.
So my feelings were a mixture of embarrassment, anger, anxiety, confusion, and denial.
But none of this incident is true. It never happened.
Here's what I think are the corresponding connections my subconscious mind blended together to make this odd dream.
My mother traditionally made Blueberry Torte as one of her signature desserts during the Holidays. And I loved it! But one year, I think just before she and my father moved to Florida in the mid 90s, The torte had a very distinctive and corrupting taste of cigarette smoke. It was the first time I found my mother's cooking unpalatable. But, in reality, she had started smoking a heck of a lot more in those years. She'd lost weight in the early 90's, in part inspiring me to lose my weight, but it apparently caused her to up her cigarette usage, especially to combat the weight regain she was experiencing in the mid to later 90s. This affected her cooking as she probably smoked at least half a pack before completing a dish. Where did this smoke end up?
This real life incident may have colored my expectations of future Blueberry Tortes. Problem was, there weren't any. My mother and father moved to Florida and took the Tortes with them so to speak.
The other real life incident that influenced this dream must have been the explosive Thanksgiving gathering at Ma Tante Connie's house in 1996. Here's the full rundown of that fiasco.
So I woke up and before long I was crying. My mother and Ma Tante Connie are both dead bow of course. Only my father lives. But is he still alive? I don't even know. In a weird way, I thought that maybe this dream memory was a sign that he'd just passed on.
Not sure what to make all of this but I did have a little bit of a cry while I was coming to terms with this about my fucked up family and my fucked up life.
Ah well, the discomfort and pain should only be an issue for a decade or less I figure. Then I'll be dead and i won't have to dream disturbing dreams about any of it.
So fuck you Ma Tante Connie and your Blueberry Torte mystery. I don't care if I shoveled it up your shriveled old cunt. You and everyone else in my horrible, horrible family can just turn to dust without a tear shed from me.
I'm fucking over it.