strange dreams and other overstimulation

this morning was so long ago- i wish i had had a chance then to turn on my computer and write when i was first feeling it all. so i had the creepyist dream last night. my mother had died. i'm not sure when exactly this was, i think the present. anyway, allie and i had to go back home and take care of things. and something else big was happening, like the chicago marathon, so everyone was in town. and so i was organizing all sorts of random people, in town for mom's funeral or the marathon- my aunt janet and her kids, the pastor of my church in chicago, my mom's best friend penny. the undertaker was the head of the scene shop at school- he was really nice and gave me a ride home where z was coralling all the guests. i went upstairs and into mom's room, where z was a sobbing mess on the bed. i climbed into mom's closet to smell her, and started to break down. when i was done- or made myself be- i came out and z and i started to fight, but we made up quickly cause we're friends now, and she went downstairs to deal with the guests while i called the undertaker. i went into my room where the phone was and mom's dresser was there and i slowly started to wake up- the relief of mom being alive was very minor compared with the horrendous sadness that that's NOT mom's house. there are strangers walking up those light wood steps, the cedar closet has someone else's clothes in it, the pink chair is gone. it feels like dreams i have about my grandma. (the one who's died, not the one i lie to about my religion and sexuality). it made me just furious at my mother- that she would sell everything of her old life, get rid of everything down to the cats, and create this new life with a new family. the world i was dreaming about is dead- those people, that house. her life is now on top of a mountian, in a funky piece of modern architecture with a jewish husband and a grandbaby on the way. i feel very hurt- which isn't uncommon for me- but also very, very, angry, which is strange. anger isn't an emotion i have much practice with. at the end of this entry in my dream journal this morning, i wrote " if she dies now, it's marty's problem, not ours." i feel like a stone hearted person, harboring such hatred for my mother, who has done nothing wrong but fallen in love.