A Word on Doves, and Freud

So I'm reading my stuff for theory, and prominently featured on the list for today is Freud's Interpretation of Dreams. Great. I love Freud. Smell the sarcasm. It's there.

So I'm reading, and I remember this dream I had before class yesterday. I had been reading "Rhetoric," I think, and dozed off, can you blame me? But the dream featured this goblet of wine. Only it wasn't clear if the liquid was wine or blood. I couldn't tell, and it seemed as though either could be just as right, or maybe it was both at the same time. But I was drinking from this goblet, and I set it down and walked away. Just for a little bit, because I remembered there was something I should be doing. And the wine/blood came after me. It rose up out of the goblet, and spilled over the sides, and stained my brand new carpet. It was as if the goblet was a spring, pouring forth the wine/blood, and it kept spilling and spreading.

So I picked up the goblet to take it to the kitchen, because I didn't want my carpet ruined, and I set it in the sink. And the sink filled up, and the wine/blood on the carpet started to spread and flow like a river in flood season, and I got this strange notion that I had to leave the apartment. So I did, and as I locked the door, I saw the wine/blood seeping out from under it, coming after me.

I never got the feeling that it was going to hurt me, and during the dream there was no feeling of ill will that I could detect, but afterward, when I woke up, I was freaked out.

And so I'm reading Freud. And thinking that the wine/blood is Communion, and God wants me to go to Church, because I missed so many Sundays. And he isn't mad, because he knows I was sick, and then that the Church switched hours on me, but he *is* persistent. And I guess that's that.

Aside from weird dreams, I'm still reading Freud. And thinking about my stomach. It's been oddly vocal lately, and sounds like a cote full of doves. And since I'm reading Freud, I can't help but relate the sound of doves, which are a kind of bird, to the chicken and dumplings I ate for dinner last night. Chicken too, is a kind of bird. And maybe my stomach's rumblings are being heard as doves as my mind's protest about having eaten the chicken and dumplings. I have three meals of it left over, and my subconscious doesn't want to eat any more of it right now, so it's interpreting the rumbles as doves, trying to convince my conscious that I still have plenty of chicken and dumplings in my stomach and don't need to add any more. Coincidently, I ate spaghetti for dinner, because I didn't want to eat the chicken and dumplings.

Doves are a sign of peace, and the religious symbol of the Holy Spirit, who is quite present during Holy Communion, being a part of the Trinity and all that. So. I've been reading Freud, and somehow, I have just thought of Interview with the Vampire, where a guilt-ridden fledgling vampire, Louis, eats doves (and chickens, actually) in order to avoid killing people when he feeds. On blood, as vampires do, of course. And in a later scene, Lestat, his creator, and his mentor or sorts, rips out a rat's throat and lets the blood drain into a wine goblet. He offers it to Louis, who is mortified by the whole thing, and says, "Here. You can pretend it's wine."

So. In sum, I should stop reading Freud. Yes? End.