I dreamt of a horse from another place or time

He was friendly with me and let me ride it but it also got weird at one point and acted like it wanted to kick me but didn’t. It was just warning me. The horse also did it to another person who I was with. We were outside on my back porch and it was rolling around on the boards then and I could see it was hurt in some way; it had bare patches on its back. Prior I was also riding on the side of it, holding onto B. M. and standing on his one foot, which he kept held out like a stirrup. The horse did not have a saddle. Each time it did not have a saddle. We walked or cantered by L. N. and I wondered what she thought of me on the horse like this, standing on the side of it, and I wondered if she knew B. M. was my high school sweetheart.

At other points in the dream, L.N. and her friend repeatedly came to stand in the same place at the same time and wait for the same thing each day discussing a soap opera-style series on television. The last time she is there with her friend who is a teacher, my companion remarks on them and they hear it and leave because they recognize their predictability and don’t want to be predictable or they just don’t want to be heard by other people talking about the same television show every single day as they attempt to guess the next part of the story line--what will she say, what will he do…etc.

At another point I am happy to find all the ingredients to make butter cookies after I realize I can’t make oatmeal because there are no oats in the box of Quaker. Someone replaced the emptied box with another type of no-cook breakfast cereal. I dream about many of the steps to melting the butter, looking for the right size large glass measuring cup so I can make it in my familiar stir-method style. I am also measuring to see if I can stretch what we have to make the whole batch and I know that there’s barely enough but will serve to create nice moist sweet cookies with less flour. I plan to and do use a package of instant pre-sweetened oats. I also realize I don’t have eggs but I figure it will work without them and it does. They are nice and moist when finished, however none of my children want any.

I get a letter from the teacher, who reminds me of the teacher on a women’s forum whose nickname is hellolizzie. She and L.N. have drawn up a lengthy complaint letter to me about my failure to help my daughter on a specific school project. As I’m reading the letter, I’m underlining parts with some sort of glue or goo that squeezes out of some type of tube/hose. Someone to my right is complaining about how I am doing it but I just wipe it down and the stuff turns clear--just as I suspected. It was violet and has the consistency of glue and will dry like epoxy. The letter, in the end, means nothing. There is no complaint, there is nothing I have to do or fix. L.N. and hellolizzie were standing to my right and a little behind me as I read it and leave soon afterwards.

Meanwhile, my three or four-year-old daughter J is in the bedroom yelling at her father, who has just returned from somewhere but who is rarely home. She’s calling him an alcoholic and will not let up. I wonder if she’s doing the right thing, or if I should stop her, but I realize she’s just a kid and it appears to be the moment in her life where she needs to scream at him and let him know of all her frustration and pain--until she gets it all out of her system.