Even in dreams, my life is complicated …
Fighting a stomachache thanks to a pile of urgent deadlines and another two and a half days in which to meet them. Afterward, I am on a 10-day vacation out of this joint … and that means blog posts o’plenty now since I can’t focus!
So anyway. Dreams. Been having lots of them lately.
I quit dreaming back when I was taking psychotropics regularly. Now that I’m clean, save for the occasional pill from 2010 that I keep in my desk for things like corporate re-orgs (*pop*), I am back to dreaming. It’s usually in big, bold colors and emotions and psychological imprints. I don’t always remember them, but my dreams from the last two nights have been sticking with me.
Nothing I want to share in the way of details that I want to keep to myself. But I had an interesting dream last night that is still disturbing me on some level.
I dreamed that Topo Gigio and I were fooling around in his bed. *fans self* And the Whore flew in from her dinky little town and burst right on in. And he left me mid-act to go kiss her hello.
I remember being ready to rip her straw-yellow hair out strand by strand. And then I saw how happy he was that she was there. It was probably the only thing that kept me from attacking her on sight — that he seemed happy.
That was sort of news to me, even in my slumber. I thought I was dead inside on that front. And I think I still am — but WOW did my temper flare up for a second there.
In any event, I found myself going throughout the rest of the dream with a little girl who apparently was conceived from that episode. And I thought, wow, that’s how it all could have happened. He would have left me for her anyway — better done sooner rather than later, right? Without leaving any lasting damage, preferably.
I texted him today to see whether I’d had a premonition and that she, in fact, was gassing up her broom and heading to town. He avoided the question and changed the subject.
I mean, I don’t *care* if she does still exist and if she’s around. If he’s happy, let him be happy. He just never seems bursting-with-fruit-flavor happy and, lately, I’ve never seen him LESS happy. He tries to pull off happy for me, but you all know you can’t lie to me and you shouldn’t even try.
I’d say the plot thickens, but I’m so far removed that I’m shocked any of this even danced through my brain.