Fellini has nothing on me

Well, outside of the stunning locations, the gorgeous Italian language and the wealth, Fellini has nothing on me.

My life, in general, has an interesting cast of characters that would fit well into any Fellini film. From the high brow beautiful people reveling in locales many only dream of to the every day people with the beautiful souls. Of course, there are the odd ne’er-do-wells playing their parts as well. Check off the soundtrack of life, too.

Beyond my waking moments, I have long joked that my dreams are very Fellini-esque and this weekend really did not let me down. I’m still perplexed. The snapshots of my dreams included the following:
• Shopping with a dear friend of mine for a party she was hosting.
• The shopping excursion turned into a family reunion of sorts where everyone was drinking and “whooping it up” in our outdoor area complete with fountain and stone sitting areas (think modern “lifestyle mall”).
• The family reunion morphed into everyone heading to the party in limos.
• Driving through a parking lot where it seems dozens of couples were randomly having sex outside of their cars – in the daylight.
• People coming up to my car to solicit cookies and other wares (I’m a little scared here).
on another night:
• Going on a family vacation (but I’m not sure whose family it was because I recognized no one even though a man was supposed to be my ex husband and I really don’t want to vacation with him) we ended up in the southwestern United States.
• I took off on my own when I saw a gypsy tent city of sorts and wandered through the “town” learning from the inhabitants and purchasing a few small items.
• Coming back to “the family” after my little excursion and being reprimanded by the same friend that was in the dream from the other night.
I know I’d be a dream analyst’s dream. (HA!) Feel free to interpret.

I’ve also had dreams about riding ostriches – that was a funny one and has become a long-standing joke in so many different ways. According to the dream dictionaries, apparently I am/was in complete denial. It works. Ostriches are cool.

I nervously await the moment when my dreams and reality morph into one and I am riding an ostrich through a gypsy camp while my intoxicated friends get into limos nearby to ride through an orgy of strangers on their way to a “La Dolce Vita”-themed party.

If only Fellini would ride on the ostrich with me, and Giulietta Messina would be there, too, all would come together beautifully.

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Patricia J Grace

Author of SHATTERED, a memoir of childhood sexual abuse

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