Blog Dis
Oprah is telling lies to my mother...
2025-12-18
Here I go again... that dreaded insomnia of mine strikes with ferocity, when I least expect it, and last night's sleep was no exception. I had hardly slept at all, and when I did, I dreamed the dreams that only a sleep-deprived brain could conjure.
Sitting with a small group of mixed company, listening to an enthralling lecture (regrettably the subject is a mystery) and I look over to the far side of the wall. My mother is talking to Oprah. I see their lips are moving. Oprah looks at me then turns her head back to my mother and says, "Your daughter hasn't been paying attention. She's been eating chocolate bon-bons like candy, popping handfuls in her mouth, one after another." My mother is quick to concur that I'm not disciplined. She nods her head and says back to Oprah, "I tried to tell her to pay attention and not to eat so much." These are all bold-faced lies! I was not eating chocolate bon-bons. In fact, I wasn't eating at all. Period. If I was inspired to eat chocolate bon-bons, I certainly wouldn't eat them while listening to a lecture.
And would someone from Freud's school of thought please tell me the symbolic significance of why Oprah was in my dream in the first place?
Like the dickens, I dashed, trying to escape their dialogue. I mean come on... the nerve of discussing me in the third person. I can't even explain how I was able to hear their dialogue but I did just the same. I ran from my mother and Oprah, coming into my old high school auditorium. I recognized the building immediately. I even knew what doors to open and what hallway to run down to get away from their nit-picking. The high school then changed into roadways and overpasses and I found myself at the Bayshore Shopping Centre, looking up at my mother, who was standing with Oprah unable to navigate their way out of the maze of overpasses. Both were lost. Both asked me for advice, which overpass to take to get out. I didn't want to tell them.
But let's get things straight in the first place. I don't eat chocolate bon-bons. I eat only dark chocolate by the bar, broken into pieces, not huge bon-bons wrapped in gold foil. If every dream is a hidden wish, then I'm to interpret from this dream that in fact I desire chocolate bon-bons. In truth, I used to eat Rece's Pieces by the handful, popping one at a time in my mouth as I would swig ice-cold water. But never chocolate bon-bons! And Oprah? Puh-lease!
We are never in control, and surely least of all our subconscious. The conscious mind is comprised of the thoughts that are foremost in our noggin, those worries and day-to-day details that remind us of everything we need or have to do, on top of the relationship issues that are presently plaguing our minds. Whereas our subconscious mind is all the stuff that our inner-child desires or frets and analyzes over. The subconscious mind is what I call the raging beast that plays childish games in your dreams and lets you live out fantasies no holds barred. We pummel and kill and kiss and f*ck until the cows come home and it feels so bloody real that when you wake up, you desperately want to return to the dream but cannot, especially if you are being pleasured in your dream. I love it went a man goes below my equator. I've said this before, that when a man takes the time to bring me off first, whether by finger or tongue, before he plunges, then I know this is a man who knows his way around the female body. But even that tactile and real form of pleasuring isn't as mind-blowing pleasurable as it is when I get head in my dreams.
Oprah? Well, this is surely a curious subconscious creation. I shall have to consult my Dreams interpreted book to assist me in dissecting this beauty. I suspect having read some blurbs about Oprah's podcast series might have something to do with it, nor am I surprised that she has jumped onto the podcast train, like so many others, and despite the fact that the podcast market is over-run to death with podcasts. Admittedly, I've been slow to adopt tuning into podcasts. My diet is strict these days. I pretty much tune into one podcast, The Diary of a CEO, and when I do it is typically on a Sunday. Most recently I was alerted to another podcast called Northern Disclosure, the cast of the series Northern Exposure, discussing in detail the series of six seasons which I rank up there in my top 10 favourite TV series of all time.
When I worked in a prior incarnation as an inside sales support executive assistant, at one point in time we inhabited a satellite office and it was just me and another colleague. What heaven! We would purposely work through our lunch each day so that we could tune into The Oprah Show at 4 pm. "It's Oprah time!" And we enjoyed the shows, guests, and discussions. Talk shows are not for everyone. I grew up watching The Johnny Carson Show, Phil Donahue and re-runs of The Dick Cavett Show. I found Oprah's show to be entertaining, feeling at the time that she was part journalist and part humanitarian. Often my colleague and I would end up crying at the end. Nowadays, the podcasts delve into serious subjects, with less emphasis placed on humanitarianism. This is OK. I learn much from catching episodes of the DOAC. My newest interest of Northern Disclosure has only begun, and to-date, I believe there are 31 episodes from which to choose.
Holidays can't come soon enough. I'll be able to lollygag and read. Lollygag some more and listen to podcasts because I don't always watch the action, but rather I'll pull them up on my mobile and lounge on the couch, just listening. I will also lollygag and roll over to nap, over and above visiting with family and friends.
I am open to receiving some podcasts suggestions, if you're willing to share, incidentally.
And finally, will there be more dark chocolate in my future? I should think the answer is obvious.
Sitting with a small group of mixed company, listening to an enthralling lecture (regrettably the subject is a mystery) and I look over to the far side of the wall. My mother is talking to Oprah. I see their lips are moving. Oprah looks at me then turns her head back to my mother and says, "Your daughter hasn't been paying attention. She's been eating chocolate bon-bons like candy, popping handfuls in her mouth, one after another." My mother is quick to concur that I'm not disciplined. She nods her head and says back to Oprah, "I tried to tell her to pay attention and not to eat so much." These are all bold-faced lies! I was not eating chocolate bon-bons. In fact, I wasn't eating at all. Period. If I was inspired to eat chocolate bon-bons, I certainly wouldn't eat them while listening to a lecture.
And would someone from Freud's school of thought please tell me the symbolic significance of why Oprah was in my dream in the first place?
Like the dickens, I dashed, trying to escape their dialogue. I mean come on... the nerve of discussing me in the third person. I can't even explain how I was able to hear their dialogue but I did just the same. I ran from my mother and Oprah, coming into my old high school auditorium. I recognized the building immediately. I even knew what doors to open and what hallway to run down to get away from their nit-picking. The high school then changed into roadways and overpasses and I found myself at the Bayshore Shopping Centre, looking up at my mother, who was standing with Oprah unable to navigate their way out of the maze of overpasses. Both were lost. Both asked me for advice, which overpass to take to get out. I didn't want to tell them.
But let's get things straight in the first place. I don't eat chocolate bon-bons. I eat only dark chocolate by the bar, broken into pieces, not huge bon-bons wrapped in gold foil. If every dream is a hidden wish, then I'm to interpret from this dream that in fact I desire chocolate bon-bons. In truth, I used to eat Rece's Pieces by the handful, popping one at a time in my mouth as I would swig ice-cold water. But never chocolate bon-bons! And Oprah? Puh-lease!
We are never in control, and surely least of all our subconscious. The conscious mind is comprised of the thoughts that are foremost in our noggin, those worries and day-to-day details that remind us of everything we need or have to do, on top of the relationship issues that are presently plaguing our minds. Whereas our subconscious mind is all the stuff that our inner-child desires or frets and analyzes over. The subconscious mind is what I call the raging beast that plays childish games in your dreams and lets you live out fantasies no holds barred. We pummel and kill and kiss and f*ck until the cows come home and it feels so bloody real that when you wake up, you desperately want to return to the dream but cannot, especially if you are being pleasured in your dream. I love it went a man goes below my equator. I've said this before, that when a man takes the time to bring me off first, whether by finger or tongue, before he plunges, then I know this is a man who knows his way around the female body. But even that tactile and real form of pleasuring isn't as mind-blowing pleasurable as it is when I get head in my dreams.
Oprah? Well, this is surely a curious subconscious creation. I shall have to consult my Dreams interpreted book to assist me in dissecting this beauty. I suspect having read some blurbs about Oprah's podcast series might have something to do with it, nor am I surprised that she has jumped onto the podcast train, like so many others, and despite the fact that the podcast market is over-run to death with podcasts. Admittedly, I've been slow to adopt tuning into podcasts. My diet is strict these days. I pretty much tune into one podcast, The Diary of a CEO, and when I do it is typically on a Sunday. Most recently I was alerted to another podcast called Northern Disclosure, the cast of the series Northern Exposure, discussing in detail the series of six seasons which I rank up there in my top 10 favourite TV series of all time.
When I worked in a prior incarnation as an inside sales support executive assistant, at one point in time we inhabited a satellite office and it was just me and another colleague. What heaven! We would purposely work through our lunch each day so that we could tune into The Oprah Show at 4 pm. "It's Oprah time!" And we enjoyed the shows, guests, and discussions. Talk shows are not for everyone. I grew up watching The Johnny Carson Show, Phil Donahue and re-runs of The Dick Cavett Show. I found Oprah's show to be entertaining, feeling at the time that she was part journalist and part humanitarian. Often my colleague and I would end up crying at the end. Nowadays, the podcasts delve into serious subjects, with less emphasis placed on humanitarianism. This is OK. I learn much from catching episodes of the DOAC. My newest interest of Northern Disclosure has only begun, and to-date, I believe there are 31 episodes from which to choose.
Holidays can't come soon enough. I'll be able to lollygag and read. Lollygag some more and listen to podcasts because I don't always watch the action, but rather I'll pull them up on my mobile and lounge on the couch, just listening. I will also lollygag and roll over to nap, over and above visiting with family and friends.
I am open to receiving some podcasts suggestions, if you're willing to share, incidentally.
And finally, will there be more dark chocolate in my future? I should think the answer is obvious.
