Book of D: Living Large

Whether you believe that "living large" means being able to afford lavish things, living off the government dole for months or years (because "you lazy, dude!"), or as the Urban Dictionary explains: ". . . being able to have a bigger shoe collection than most women," there is a lot to contemplate. For me, living large doesn't necessarily mean that you are filthy rich or that you have things you may not have had as a child; it encompasses the ability to afford to do things and buy things you could not when you were younger. Think of it this way, it is younger you against older you; no one else is involved (not even your parents or guardians and such). The act of living large is living a better life for yourself, so you are never dependent on anyone else. I started thinking about the meaning of "living large" while I perused through some online stores in hopes of buying a holiday cardigan (with a zipper) for work. I came across a website, and I loved their logo: the shaka, which is the hand sign for hang loosethat sold clothing. 

At first, I thought the website,  Living Large, was going to be a cyber meditation venue - but it was not, and it was indeed for clothes. The algorithm was spot-on for what I was shopping for: clothes. Or as the tech industry would say, the algorithm is correct when it delivers a tangible competitive advantage. Or was it really correct because the kind of clothing the webstore offered is not what I would normally purchase for work (lol), but it did get me to take a breather from online shopping, so I could be more present while my spouse's family is here visiting us for the weekend. Man, that was an all out kind of a tangent right there was it not? Perhaps living large should include having your mental faculties in check and not being a couple of beers short of a six-pack. LOL. Another damn tangent. 

Book of D: Holding Space

"Holding space" is a trendy phrase these days . . . but what does it mean? The definition of holding space is to be present with someone, without judgment. It means selflessly lending your ears and heart without motive or reciprocal expectations. Moreover, holding space entails the use of both empathy and compassion. 

With that said, my university division came together late Tuesday afternoon to "hold space" together at the Student Activity Center (SAC) after finding out that our colleague, Stacie, had died. I was unable to join them. I was off that day. Actually, I took vacation to perform my civic duties on both Monday and Tuesday as an election worker. I wanted to take an early leave from working the elections upon hearing that my colleague had died. The location I had been assigned to monitor (7 am to 7 pm) was not as busy as it had been in the morning. The other election workers there said I should leave and that they would be okay if I left - besides, they added, the polls weren't due to close for a couple more hours and voter turn-out was slowing down a little. I decided to stay and monitor my assigned voting location. One, it was my honor to be there as a certified election worker as I had taken the required courses, primers, and refreshers; and two, staying there would keep me busy and grounded. I texted my boss, Corey, and told him that I wish I could have been on campus to "share space" with our division. He said, "me, too." It's still so surreal that we lost Stacie. She had so much going for her. But, isn't that when life decides to cash in its chips: when you finally have your shit together? Yeah, that's a rhetorical question!

Book of D: Exasperated: WTF, Uvalde

While the survivors and surviving families of the Robb Elementary School victims and other gun control advocates worked diligently for months to try to create sound gun reform in Texas - which weighed heavily on changing governors, 60% of the Uvalde voters turned a blind eye, went rogue, and voted red. How heartbreakingly disappointing that more than 60% of the vote in Uvalde County went for Abbott.

Per Einstein's famous quote, insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. This adage is so true, and it would be indicative of Uvalde county, as a whole, if every single resident had voted to re-elect Abbott; however, 40% of the voters cast their choice and said "no" to Abbott. The 60% of Uvalde residents who voted for no change, well, they are the ones who are insane. I hope the 60% never has to experience the slaughter of their loved ones or of themselves because Texas can't get their shit together when it comes to guns. Although I never had children, I stand proudly as a member of Moms Demand Action. My thoughts and continued prayers and good karma continues for the victims and loved ones of the 19 children and two teachers who were killed by a lone gunman on May 24, 2022. My wish is that one day, they will get justice by way of gun control, or firearms regulation, in the state of Texas and on the federal level. 

Book of D: Elections and Death

Those damn elections! Well, I wasn't holding my breath that Beto would beat Greggy, but I was hoping my gut feelings were wrong and that maybe this would be the year Texas would smarten up and elect another democratic governor. The usual Texas metropolitan areas (Austin, Dallas, El Paso, Houston, and San Antonio) voted for Beto, but it just wasn't enough in the end.

The newest and latest republican-led plundering and pillaging of voting boundaries through district manipulation (a.k.a. gerrymandering) has not been kind to Texas Democrats. Those fucking republicans are vile. Unfortunately, the  rural areas are just too darn antiquated and ancient with their views and keep voting republican. Maybe next time, Beto. I was excited about Beto - as much as I was when Wendy Davis ran for Texas governor in 2014. It's 'whatevs,' Texas right-wing thugs. Davis is still and always will be a badass. She would have made an excellent governor; just like Ann Richards. I will always remember Davis's 13-hour filibuster. WOW! As for Beto, perhaps Texas is just not worthy of someone like him.

The part of today's post title about "death" does not at all have to do with the fact that O'Rourke lost to Abbott. You see, this late afternoon, the university where I work sent out an email to our division letting us know that one of our colleagues had passed away earlier in the day. My friend and colleague, Stacie Smith, passed away today, Tuesday, Nov. 8th, following complications from surgery.

Stacie's sudden death put things in perspective: although the mid-term elections were important, not just for Texas, life holds and will always hold more value. Stacie's death was a reminder of how life can change in an instant. I was in shock to say the least, and so saddened by the news. Stacie was the University counselor for the student population. Despite her position mostly being to serve students, it was not surprising that every now and then, several of us (staff, faculty, etc.) would don her doorway for banter that would eventually turn into questions or sharing of feelings (i.e. counseling). Stacie always tried to make time for people. Her and I were working with the counseling and psychology graduate programs to establish a UTPB Counseling Center next January 2023. Stacie and I were developing plans and prepping for the Center by getting familiar with the Titanium software and other components that would be essential. On a personal note,

Stacie helped me a lot when I was in the counseling program by posing mental health scenarios and asking questions that would help me better learn the different modalities of counseling and the DSM 5 (our bible). Moreover, she helped me make sense when the program head and I were at odds with one another, and Stacie was key in helping me decide to stay in the program when I was nearing my final academic year. Stacie went to bat for me when the program head was being difficult with me, and she put in a good word for me to said program head when she saw how dedicated and hard working I was being as a practicum student. Poor Stacie, she had just bought her first house last year. She will be sorely missed. Per my communication with my sisters, whom I shared the news of Stacie's sudden demise, I stated that the counseling program will be working even more diligently towards creating the much-needed counseling center. There are five of us working on this (including the program head and Stacie), and we were just talking about, before Stacie took medical leave, possible names for the center. I hope it gets named after Stacie. UTPB has named other centers on campus after ppl who didn't really deserve it, except they had lots of $$$ donor mula. 🙂 IMO, Stacie is deserving of a center bearing her name, and I can say that sans bias. Things weren't always golden with rainbows and unicorns between Stacie and me; we most certainly did not have a perfect relationship. Our association was at times muddled . . . we had our ups and downs. There were times that we disagreed - but never in a disrespectful or billigernt manner. I liked knowing where she stood on certain issues. Stacie told me she respected how I stood up for myself and what I believed in. That, my readers, is mutual respect, and I will miss that because there is so little mutual-respect in this quirky world these days. My word, how I will indeed miss my friend and colleague. The news was devastating to many of us - for me especially. I will hurt knowing she will no longer be just four floors away from seeing her friendly but often times tired face. She will no longer be just four floors away from bidding a quick hello - as she was often in a hurry - for obvious reasons. She will no longer be just four floors away for several of us to seek much-needed advice or in need of hearing, "it's gonna be okay." Rest in peace, Stacie.

Book of D: Higher Ed Pedagogy & Life Lessons via Lesbian Movies

I love watching movies. Whenever I want to self-indulge, I turn to old movies. I love em all . . . period pieces, black and white, foreign, war time, maritime - and subtitles are wonderful. I belong to the TCM Wine Club – Pairing Wine and Movies. I do more watching than I do drinking, which is good, I guess. Haha. I am a firm believer that regardless of a person's age (mostly a self-reference), the person should be cultured in many genres and forms of life and entertainment. For example with music, I was born in the late 60s, but it doesn't mean I should only be versed in music of my generation. Moreover, I should know music that pre-dates me. I am fortunate in that regard, having been the youngest in a family of eight (mom, dad, one brother, and four sisters). They each introduced me to different types of music and musicians. The same goes for movies, novels, comics, and even food: my family members were my first influencers. I like to think I have acquired a vast wealth of knowledge not just through my family, but through the different people I have met, jobs I have held, and the many travels and adventures I have partaken of in my lifetime. It would be really wonderful if I could take all of that knowledge and create a classroom where I could share and teach. More distinctly, I would love to teach others about the LGBTQ community through movies. Yes, through movies. I would love to share the movies as I saw them and was able to compare (and contrast) them to my own life. It would be invigorating to share how I took the different meanings and lessons from each movie and explain how I was able to learn from each one. I will list them, but I will not explain why - that is for another post. 

Some of the lesbian-inspired movies I would include in my course: 

Another Country (1984), Desert Hearts (1985), Maurice (1987), Fried Green Tomatoes (1991), The Incredibly True Adventures of Two Girls in Love (1995), Bound (1996), Fire (1996), Chasing Amy (1997), Gia (1998), High Art (1998), Lost and Delirious (2001), Kissing Jessica Stein (2001), My Summer of Love (2004), Saving Face (2004), Imagine Me & You (2005), I Can’t Think Straight (2008), Elena Undone (2010), Blue is the Warmest Color (2013), Carol (2015), Reaching for the Moon (2013), Tru Love (2013), Margarita With a Straw (2014), Jenny’s Wedding (2015), Duck Butter (2018), Lizzie (2018), Tell It to the Bees (2019), Ammonite (2020) . . . .

These are just a few lesbian-themed movies with which I would first begin the course. My list of LGBTQ movies is extensive, so if I were to include more than just the lesbian movies, the class would be neverending - to say the least. My preference is mostly because of my own personal association with lesbian matters (and affairs of the heart and mind, if you will). 

However, if I did have to pick one LGBT, non-lesbian movie, it would have to be Another Country (1984). I will explain, why I would include this movie in my course - in another post, as I stated previously.

So . . .  to each one of these films, I dedicate a special part of me that will never be lost or given away because of their paramount, cardinal meaning and inspiration. Memories deeply instilled of the different nuances of what love once meant to me and what it has come to mean at this juncture of my life.

Boof of D: Celebrating Day of the Dead / Día de los Muertos

Our university is once again going all out to celebrate the traditional Mexican holiday: Día de los Muertos. Today, I am remembering my loved ones whom have passed away. Mostly, celebrating the lives of my late Mom, Dad, brother, nephew, and of course my cat. So, this is for each one of you.

Mama, you were born on a Monday, September 3, 1934. You passed away (much too soon) on a Thursday, November 17, 2011. I was with you the morning you started your beautiful journey home to meet your Maker. We called 9-1-1 when you took a turn for the worse. My heart broke that I was not with you as you passed away in the ambulance. Your heart gave out. Your little body was so tired. After all, you had been battling with so many health issues for such a long time. You battled with hypertension, rheumatoid arthritis, dermatomyositis, and esophageal cancer. Never mind the many, many years before when you worked so hard in so many arduous and laborious jobs. I never knew a time that you did not work. As for your myriad of illnesses, Mama, you never gave up till the very end. You kept up our spirits by showing us how a strong person moves forward through adversity. You instilled sublime values in us and always, always showed us unconditional love. You passed away one week before your favorite holiday: Thanksgiving. It was so hard to celebrate it without you, but we did so for you; 'we were not going to start disappointing you now,' we all thought. We gathered at your beautiful home and celebrated. We laughed as we shared memories of you, and of course, we cried. Our hearts were so broken. As for myself, I felt such an emptiness, loneliness, and heartache; unlike anything I had ever felt. My stomach hurt and my jaw ached. I knew my sisters were feeling the same way, so I tried extra hard to be there for them that day. I even made sure we celebrated my sister Eva's birthday - as we always did on Thanksgiving since her grand day falls on the 25th. This might sound cheesy and blasé, but I have had people ask how long it took me to get over my mom's death, and my answer always has been and always will be . . . "as soon as I do, I'll let you know, but don't hold your breath." Personally, I know I will NEVER get over losing my dear, beautiful Mom. ¡Como te extraño, Mama!

Papi, you were born on a Thursday, October 24, 2918. You passed away on a Thursday, August 18, 1983. That was the first day of my junior year in high school. My life changed forever on that day. Life changed for all of us that day, dad, especially for mom. I wish I had had more time with you, dad. I didn't get to spend as much "quality" time with you like my siblings did, but we were on our way. Weren't we, dad? Life had other plans and although love was in abundance, time was not. You were so young when you left. I know it's not your fault. I have no one or nothing to blame for that, so I think the anger that plagued me for years is why I had such a difficult time letting go of people and things that weren't really right for me. I am grateful for the although too short 17 years I had you for my father, and I especially give thanks thart you instilled in me a virtue to love myself and avoid those who did not. Sometimes it took me a while, dad, to escape those people, but eventually, I figured things out. I miss you so much, Papi.

Rudy, Jr., my only brother, you were born on a Monday, March 5, 1956. You passed away on a Saturday, June 26, 2021. My brother, you, too, passed away much too soon. Although we were estranged for so many years, the last part of you life was most meaningful to me as we were trying to make up for lost time. You left behind a loving wife and three young men whom have all done amazing things with their lives. I know you were very proud of your family. Your family had grown exponentially during the past couple of years, and it was evident how much your wife, sons, and grandchildrten meant to you and how much you adored them. I miss you - I miss the "what could have been." It is similar to when we lost dad because our relationship was just beginning to rekindle when your Maker came around to reclaim you. 

Philip, Jr., you were born on a Friday, June 13, 1980. You passed away on a Thursday, May 4, 2000. My dear nephew, you were more like a son to me, OMG, how it hurt when you died. I can still hear my brother's-in-law voice when he called to tell me that Philip "didn't make it." You were such an amazing person. I was always so proud of you. No matter how tough life was, you were stronger. I still envision you as a little boy with that cute crew cut who loved wearing cowboy boots and hats. You were so shy. As your grew into a young man, your innocence remained unadulterated by the ills that often consume others. You were very mindufl of others. Your love and respect of your mom, dad, sisters, grandma, all of us (your family) remains with to this day, and I often use you as the litmus test when your cousins bring home a date and such. You left behind big shoes to fill. You were my first Red Raider buddy. How fun it was to have gone to our first Texas Tech football game together in 1995. You, Rudy, Erica, and I had a blast. That is the memorty I mostly carry with me these days: the fun times. I miss you like crazy, Mijo.

Caty, my precious Maine Coon kitty. You were born on a Sunday, April 15, 2007; you "rescued" us in August of that year when you chose us to be your forever home. You passed away on a Monday, August 29, 2022. Your "mama" and I were with you, so was your aunt Josie and cousin Alex. We all took turns loving on you. The look on your mama's face is emblazoned in my memory as are her cries as you took your last breath and your heart beat for the last time. You were the best fur baby. You were never rambunctious or wild. You were so cool, calm, and collected. Your character made us feel safe and serene. Experts says your tranquil nature was because you were in a loving home with caring human parents. I agree to the extent that the love and respect was reciprocal. You are missed every single day, my Caty. You left such a huge gap in my heart. I'm not going to try to fill it. I am living with it and using my wonderful memories of you to carry on as best as possible. I miss you like the deserts miss the rain.

Book of D: Adult ASD, Introversion . . . or Just Socially Awkward

According to the Healthline website, social ineptness and social awkwardness do not stem from mental health issues; in actuality, there is no diagnostic criteria or solid definition for social ineptness and social awkwardness. It's just a feeling (or a collection of feelings and experiences) that forms a pattern in a person's life. As a matter of fact, social ineptness and social awkwardness are merely failures to notice certain social cues that causes these feelings and experiences. 

There, the awkwardness of the medical definition is out of the way. Now, it's my time to rant about my personal issues with social ineptness and social awkwardness, especially when it pertains to my newer coworkers (newbies). First of all, none of them really know me. The ones who knew me best retired, are on medical leave, or went to work elsewhere. To be fair to the newbies in our department, they have not had the opportunity to get to know me. I have probably not done enough to get to know them. I can be a little monosyllabic or even curt without me really noticing it. As I have gotten older, my pretenses have lessened - meaning that I don't like pretending that I like someone or something just to fit in with the rest of the crowd. I'm a GDI (i.e. a god-damn independent). I march to the beat of my own drum these days, and I am unapologetic about doing so. As for the comment I made about being fair to my newbies, I was telecommuting for a while, so I haven't been working on campus very long. They joined the department during my work-from-home stint, so they all had the good fortune of getting to know each other fairly well and bond - without me  I'm still in the early phases of acclimating; therefore, I reckon I am actually the newbie. Hmmm. Anyway, stupid covid caused me to become more of an introvert than usual. 

I opted to stop working from home when I graduated from grad school, so when I did return in-person to campus this Fall (2022), our department had new people, new faces. I was excited - but guarded. Still, I missed working from home which elicited the horsemen-of-obstinance to arise in me (probably more like a jackass), and it caused my anxiety for new people to soar. Mainly because I don't like small talk; I have never reveled in it. In fact, I loathe it; unless the person likes a lot of the things that I find of interest or is disposed to partake in profound topics that engage me, I would just as soon avoid the person. I do better in one-on-one conversations, which is why I love being a counselor. Don't get me wrong, all my new colleagues are actually really nice people.  However, a couple of them can be loud. And, I don't do loud. I abhor it and concede that it is more of a character flaw. I don't know if they realize how loud they are, but it makes me uncomfortable. I have a low and quiet voice; I don't like having to go too many decibels to be heard; it is unnerving and upsetting when I do. Because I view being loud as a flaw, it makes me not want to be part of it, so when I do raise my voice or reach a near scream, I feel like a fool. I usually picture myself as Sheldon Cooper: he didn't like or do loud either. LOL. On a side note, 

I think Sheldon was autistic (or compulsive) despite the Big Bang Theory producers and Jim Parsons saying the Sheldon character did not have autism spectrum disorder (ASD). I beg to differ that Sheldon was probably on the cusp of the spectrum or compulsivity range; after all, Sheldon did have issues with germs and numbers, and he possessed the "precision" thing that we see in ASD and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Sheldon, like myself, was socially awkward, but his character leaned more toward possessing social ineptness. I am not inept. I actually do notice other people and take my cues from how they talk and act, and I oblige as appropriately required - or I gently walk away after the obligatory salutations and valedictions. I try not to offend others, but when I am in my element (i.e. writing or reading or even doing algebraic equations for fun), I can seem quite standoffish and probably rude. 

All this talk of social ineptness and social awkwardness reminds me of a funny story that dates back to 1998 when I started working as a district manager for a marketing / merchandising company. During my 10 years with the company, they held our annual national conference(s) in Detroit, Chicago, or St. Louis. 

This one district manger from Louisiana, during my first conference, told me she thought I was either mean or snooty. I was taken aback. I had to do some light PR work to clear the air and get her to realize that I was actually friendly (and funny). During my second conference, I distinctly remember the company chartering a bus for all the district managers, regional managers, and account execs to visit our headquarters in Taylorville, IL (before they moved it to Minneapolis). We had a great time during the bus trip; lots of bantering and getting to know one another went on, and when it came my time to introduce myself, I provided a short bio, people were engaged at everything I shared. When I finished recounting bits of my life, one of the regional DM's said, "Dora, you're so friendly. Since you started working here, I just thought you were a snob or a bitch." She was a sweet, older lady who was known to be a smartass and to cut up from time to time. The bus grew quiet; I sensed that some people tensed up after she told me that, so I just started laughing, and everyone else on the bus busted out laughing, too. Several people took the liberty to tell me how they were afraid of me or thought I didn't like to be bothered, etcetera. LOL. Two things happened for me on that day. One, I was relieved that my colleagues liked me after all (I went all Sally Field receiving her Oscar: 'I can’t deny the fact that you like me. Right now, you like me!'); and two, I learned to stop telling myself stories (CBT 101) about how others might not like me. The experience provided much insight for me, which helped me start interacting more with others. I transcended in interacting with others and being extroverted. Move ahead almost a decade, covid came along and screwed things up. Sadly, it not only killed millions, but it took away people's autonomy, freedom, and security. For me, covid made me become introverted again to the point where I craved working alone. I still liked to do the fellowship thing and hang out with family and friends, but when it came to work, I just wanted to be left alone to work the voodoo only I knew how to do, and I excelled at it. 

So, now we are surviving (hopefully beating) covid, and I just have to keep things in check and not be so hard on others, especially when I have not personally held out an olive branch or made the first move to get to know them. Ultimately, I cannot expect others to know me and be mindful of my own character flaws if I haven't made the first move to get to know them on a personal basis; not just work and career. 

Well, folks, that's my rant for the day. It is the final day of Samhain (Oct. 31 - Nov. 1), and although we are not farmers or Wiccans with bonfires to light, sacrifices to make, or livestock to slaughter, we are university staff with lots of students to help. I am glad I was able to write this today during my lunch time. 

Book of D: HAPPY SPOOKYWEEN

It's Halloween and our university loves to go full force in celebration of it. There is an individual costume contest, which I did not enter, and a group (departmental) room decorating one. Our department opted for the celebrity insurance theme. These days, we are bombarded by tons of commercials set forth by this country's not-so-wonderful insurance carriers and underwriters (and yet, millions upon millions are not insured or underinsured) . . . Oops, Tangent. My bad! Anyway, for our department's insurance theme, I decided to go as Limu Emu and Doug from Liberty Mutual Insurance. I even managed a like and a comment from the Liberty Insurance people on Insta. My colleagues donned the following: John as Gecko from Geico; Stephanie as Dr. Rick from Progressive; Amber as Flo from Progressive; Isaiah as Jake from State Farm; Jashon as The General from the eponymous co.; and Diana's baby was Maxwell the Geico pig and her puppy was Mayhem from All-State. 

It has been a riotous day. Admittedly, our team started out early; we began decorating our area yesterday (Sunday, 10/30/22) . . . après the Dallas Cowboy's game, of course. Our student workers, Isaiah and Jashon, actually started really early on Sunday. John and I waited after the game to join in on the decorating. Stephanie was flying back from Austin (TACUSPA Conference) and Amber had family over, so they came later. Stephanie left early but bought our student workers food from Raising Cane's. Amber also left early but not before doing a wonderful job painting where needed. The rest of the guys and I stayed late, but the three of them stayed about 30 minutes after I left. John masterminded the entire decorating project; he envisioned what he thought we should have, and we made it come to fruition, somehow. 

It was tiring. John is a colleague; he is the UTPB Coordinator of Military and Veterans Support Services, but these past couple days, he has worked us harder than our own boss (LOL), Corey, who is the UTPB Assistant Vice President and Dean of Students. John is a good guy and an excellent coworker. We have a wonderful team. Soon, maybe next Spring 2023, we will all be moving to the second floor of the Student Activity Building (SAC), and we will be part of the Center for Student Belonging and Inclusion; Diana is the director; the rest of us will remain coordinators with the two guys staying on as our student workers. This is most likely the last semester we will celebrate holidays in the Falcon Center. It's all good in the neighborhood!

Book of D: A Dream Within a Dream

I had a hard time waking up this morning. I have been on jury duty since Monday, and it has taken its toll. We were in court until almost 7 pm on Monday, and I had a difficult time going to sleep later that night. Before I left, I was told to report at 9 am on Tuesday, then on Tuesday, I was told to return on Wednesday at 9 am. I am uncertain yet if I will be asked to return on Thursday; the clerk said I was to call the automated number at 7 am tomorrow (Thursday) to find out. In the past, I was exempt as a student and caregiver to my Mom when she was dianosed with dermatomyositis, so I have not served jury duty for almost 10 years. I think they are going to abuse my duty to civic service to make up for all that time. LOL (or not LOL). All I know is my sleep pattern is screwed up and probably the reason for the hair-raising dreams. 

Anyway . . .

The dream from which I awoke this morning was disturbing. It took place in another location; a location that I have often dreamed about in other dreams. Those dreams are kind of dystopian.

The buildings and streets remind me of the movie Brazil (1985). Ergo, a dream within a dream. 

This morning's dream was about demonic-like male twins in their early 20s. Each one hauntingly beautiful with rugged facial featues, tall and toned, dark hair, light skin, but the way they looked at you was diabolical. They kept following a group of my friends and me around the apocalyptic city. As for my friends in the dream, I am not sure who they were; they are not people I hang around in real life (whew). Well, maybe one of them kind of looked like a classmate of mine from grad school, but I am hesitant to confirm. The twins had the power to take over a person's body by way of entering it through the mouth, slowly devouring the body until it was all consumed, then the body would implode and evaporate. Much like a vampire when it first dies of exposure to the sun: it burns and explodes into dust. These twins were scary looking. I wish I had the talents of Stephen King to better describe my dream in finite detail because the dream had me shaken for a long time after I woke up. I don't even know from where the dream originated as I have not watched a horror (or even sci fi) movie in days. I was frightened in the dream, too, because we could not evade the twins. At one point, one of the twins stopped showing up and the other twin (I call him the lone twin) became more powerful, almost omnipotent. He could find us wherever we went in the dream; the nihilist city was abandoned (like it usually is in my other dreams) and only my friends and I are driving around in it desperately trying to lose the one twin - but he keeps finding us. Each time the lone twin shows up, he manages to overtake one of us. Sometimes he will possess the body, other times, he will vanish with the body or do a "jeepers creepers" and dismantle the body right in front of us. It's disgusting what this evil twin does. I recall one point in the dream when a friend and I are the only ones left, we are driving like mad in that frightening city, escaping the maniacal twin, and we arrive at a point that is extremely familiar to me (because I have dreamt of it before), and I say to myself, "please, not this place, don't let him find us here." It dawns on me that the exact location is the same one in my previous dreams where I usually find solace. I recall waking up to a 6:00 am text from my spouse (who is in Austin with her employee for a DPS work trip). I tried to make sense over the disturbing feeling I had, and then it hit me, the dreams I usually have of the dystopian city are not scary or menacing; the dreams are usually me driving around and looking at buildings I find beautiful. So, by having this city pop up in today's dream, it was threatening the very place that I normally find peaceful. I think I fell asleep again at some point while trying to reconcile the dream and feelings; perhaps it was like a reverie. I could see myself in the evil dream silently shouting and freaking out because my city of solace was being invaded by this evil man, this lone twin, and we could not lose him. 

A movie even reared itself in the dream. Not a movie I had ever seen, though. I think it was the lone twin from hell who trapped us in a theatre room where the movie reel was playing. The lone twin was holding us captive and making sure we watched the gory flick. The movie was about a hospital and some of the nurses and doctors who work there. Moreover, the dream explicitly revolved around three nurses. Two of the nurses had finished up their shift and were going to a party. The third nurse (the person I think was my former classmate) was pulling a double, and upon finishing up her shift, was leaving for a vacation at a beach coast in another country. As it turns out, both of the twins were in attendance at the party. The twins killed several people, and it was horrible; the dream didn't fail in being blood- and gore-packed. My friends and I were scared as we watched the movie because we knew the kind of powers the twins had, and they were inescapable. We watched in horror as the party goers tried to escape and how each one was cornered and massacred. The two nurses were the only ones who managed to evade the wretched twins, and for unknown reasons, the nurses end up driving back to the hospital, and they start telling their story to the other nurses and doctors on duty. 

One of the nurses asks if they have never heard the story of the twins who died in the hospital. All heads point toward her, and no one answers as if to convey that, no, they have never heard that story. The nurse explains how 55 years ago, the hospital was built on property that belonged to the twin's elderly, sickly maternal grandmother. The city took the property without just cause and demolished the decrepit house. They paid the old lady way below the market value of the property. This made the old lady more ill than she had been, and she ended up in critical care in the hospital. Upon hearing of this, the twin's mother, who was also in poor health and had been estranged from her blood family for years, drove to see her mother in the hospital, which was over two hours away. Along the way, in her car, the twin's mother thought about how her husband had forced her to cut ties with her mom, dad, and entire relations just a few short months following their wedding. She thought how unfair it had been for him to do that to her, but mostly, she was disgusted with herself for letting it happen and for allowing her sons, the twins, to grow up not knowing her side of the family. The mother starts feeling fatigued, which happened often since she became ill. She was halfway to the city when she gets a sharp pain in her side, and she screams in agony and loses control of the car; the car plummets over into a 100-ft ravine along the dark, desolate road. The ravine is especially flooded with water during this time of the year. The mother dies on impact, but her car would not be found for days. The twins are in another state in college when they learn about their grandmother's fate and that their mother has gone missing. Their father moved out of the house after their mother got sick, so they know they cannot rely on him for news of their mother's whereabouts. They are frantic with worry and the next day, they decide to drive back home and then to the city where the hospital is. They plan to take the same route their mother would have taken in anticipation of finding her themselves. You see, the police and state troopers haven't been able to find their mother or the car. The brothers stop at different locations along the way where a car could have driven off or pulled over, but they find nothing. With each passing hour, the brothers are overcome with fraught because the chances of finding their mother alive are decreasing. It has been an extremly cold winter, and even though it has not snowed yet, the strong winds and frequent rains have made for a thick haze, which makes it hard to see too far in the distance. The brothers make the drive along the same route, five times in two days. They do not go to the hospital because the nursing staff has told them that their grandmother has not had any visitors since she was admitted, so they are sure that their mother never arrived. Plus, the police searched the hospital parking lot and the surrounding areas and have not found evidence of their mother having arrived at the hospital. On the third day, the twins decide to make the two-hour drive once again, but this time, they are going to the hospital to meet their grandmother. It takes the twins several hours to arrive at the hospital because they have taken their time and stopped at different locations that they might have missed the other five times. The twins are overwhelmed at seeing their grandmother; their mother looks just like her. The grandmother is in a coma, so the twins cannot talk to her, but they each go to oppostie sides of the bed and simultaneously hold hands with her. The twins are overcome with grief and regret remembering what their mother lost upon marrying their father. The twins, at the same time, feel a pain in their heart, and they know . . . they know their mother was gone forever. They cry like they have never cried, not caring about being silent since their maternal grandmother cannot hear them. The twins stayed with their grandmother the entire night. She passed away in the early morning. The twins felt alone. They felt betrayed. They were angry. They heard the story about how the city had robbed their grandmother of her home and how it led to her being hospitalized. The twins became enraged as they spoke about the domino effect the city caused. The twins came up with a plan: they were going to burn down the hospital at night. They had been beaten by their father almost each day until they were old enough to fight back, so they did not have much respect for others. The twins were hardened by life. The only love they knew was of their mother's, and she was gone now. Upon getting things ready for the fire, one of the twins climbed into the elevator shaft to tamper with the brakes. He knew that elevators should not be used during fires, but he counted on the fact that people do stupid things when panicked and that someone would surely try to use the elevator. If they did, they would die, too. He did not want anyone to be able to escape the fire. Meanwhile, his brother (the lone twin) was in the stairwell making sure the doors at each floor level were unable to be opened. The twin in the elevator shaft tripped and became entangled in the steel ropes. He hit his head as he fell, the rope gripped his ankle and kept him from falling. As he awoke, he saw where he was; he panicked and reached up to try to grasp the rope, but he was too weak and disoriented. He thought about his brother and hoped he would come look for him. The lone twin was finishing up with breaking the last door on the first floor when he heard the elevator start up. He got mad thinking his brother had not dismantled the elevator system, it was the only job he had to do, and he had clearly mucked it up. He took the elevator to the penultimate floor and scanned the halls for signs of hospital staff or visitors. He then pushed the button for the floor below without getting in the elevator. He listened for the bell that would sound the arrival of the elevator to its destination and opened the doors. He could not see his brother, but he heard moaning so he quickly jumped down onto the top of the elevator car. He got on his belly and checked over and around the car. He finally noticed a foot; his brother's shoe. His brother was tied up in the steel cables. The lone twin found a loose cable and used it to rappel down to help his brother. Just then, he heard the elevaror motor start; oh, no, someone is using the car again. It was after midnight, the lone twin wondered why in the hell were so many people up and around in the shitty little hospital so fucking late at night. Just as the elevaror reached the floor it was bound for, the remaining cables holding the elevator car started to fray - until they broke. The elevator car dropped and the twins were killed. The nurse stretched the story by saying that legend goes that the brothers were so concumed by hate and evil that it not only caused their own deaths, but it sent them straight to hell where they would dwell for all eternity; killing those they were unable to kill when they were alive. The nurses and doctors looked in horror as the nurse ended the tale. They were unsettled and creeped out. The movie then cuts to the nurse at the beach. She is painting by the seaside and decides to stop and return to the hotel for dinner. The movie shows her getting attacked by the lone brother in the elevator. The movie ends at the hospital with the nurse's friends and coworkers crying as they learn of her death, the nurse storyteller has the last say, she says, "it's damn ironic that the two nurses escaped from a certain deathtrap and this other nurse died in a far away place where it was supposed to be safe and peaceful." The movie in my dream ends, I revert back to the frightful dream. This is the point where my friend (the last one left) and I get into the car and end up driving around, all panicked, in the streets of the dystopian city where I once knew only serenity-filled dreams. 

It is late right now, and part of me is still disturbed by the dream. A dream within a dream. What does it mean?