Yesterday, my Voice of Reason told me that I'm living my life (finally?), and it's clear that the chains that tied me to her (great lakes) have been broken. Busted. Shot apart.
On one hand, I completely agree. I am being spontaneous (ie: trip to San Diego this weekend), social (spending a lot of time with my friends, especially Quack, and even going out), and the truth is, I do feel happy. Happier? Happy. I can't tell the difference, but I know I feel different.
On the other hand, I completely fucking disagree- but only on the chains being broken part. I dream about her (GL) far too often. About twice a week. And in every dream I have about her, we are getting back together. There is always kissing, and usually a segue into sex, if not flat-out nudity and sex. Her mom is almost always there (not during the sex, thankfully), and she makes a point to tell me how happy she is that I'm giving her daughter another chance. One dream, last week, her mom told me that she knows her daughter is doing better, but she's still not great, and she is simply grateful that I'm trying again.
I'm not trying again. There's been no contact since I told her to stop contacting me, and that was at the beginning of May. My birthday went by- no word. Her birthday eclipsed without me giving in. For a while, the fact that she didn't contact me hurt like hell. Some days, it still does. Most of the time, I'm grateful for the clear break.
But to say that the chains are broken... I wish with all my heart that I could agree. 98% of my heart, anyway. There is that lingering piece that still loves her and cares about her, even after all the hurt and bullshit she contributed to. That part, I really can't figure out except that she played such a big part in the past 3 years of my life, and to completely cut off my emotions is quite difficult for me. Don't get me wrong... if I could do it, I would. I know there's no sense in that 2%. It's not a desire to have her back in my life, or a want to pursue her again. It's just feelings that haven't let go.
So maybe the chain has lost its steely bind. Perhaps it's been replaced by fishing wire. Invisible, but it cuts. Those mornings, like today, when I wake up from a dream of reunion? (Last night's took place in my bedroom, but bigger with a sofa, and both of her sisters, and her mom [again, happy], and these weird poster-sized fragmented drawings from presumably the girl that she is with [whether just in the dream, or reality, too]. I ripped up one of the drawings. She then threw both of them away; they were scrawled with childlike writing [ironic] of how much this person loves and misses my ex. After she threw them away, she was struggling to take her shirt off, and she had quite the belly, and I said, "Wow, my love has gained some weight!" And I didn't care, I just wanted her, and we were together. Again.) The mornings don't hurt- they simply weigh heavy on my heart.
But I am moving on. I will see C today, continue to get to know her. I've pretty much dismissed S because of her weird little "I'm not psycho like that" thing, after seeing something that she assumed was something it wasn't. Sounds oh just a bit too similar to Great Lakes.
As for the Obscure Object? I'm at a loss there. My mouth and heart are itching to spill it- especially after what I was told last night, about her spending the least amount of time possible at home. But my brain resists, maybe knowing my heart better than I'd ever thought.
I just hate how I was feeling great over the last week, and today I've got this plague hanging over my head. All because of the tricks my mind plays on me while I'm sleeping.
Showing posts with label dreamscapes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreamscapes. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
can it make you feel love, love, love, love
Again, in my dreams. You're always there, on a semi-schedule of something like every other night. Sometimes you're laid up in my bed with the flu, and I'm bringing you water with a scoop of chocolate ice cream foaming at the top of the glass. Or you're sitting in my living room, two little sleeping bodies nestled into the furniture, and you're kissing their heads and looking at me. Or we're breaking into each other's personal space, the break-in, the rush, the almost-maybe-we-should. And we have, in my dreams, maybe twice. Mouths pressing into passion at the very least, and I can bring to memory at least one dream in which I fucked you- endlessly, wordlessly, wrapped and bathed in the curiousity that never fails to make me flush when you enter the room.
Last night, you were across the room, sitting on a chair on band concert risers. I was sitting in a folding chair on the floor of the room. Girlyman was there, or at least 2/3 of them: Nate and Ty. They were going to perform, but they had this weird extra band with them, and I wasn't happy about it. Then everyone else there said they wanted Nate and Ty to play Christian rock songs, and I started getting pissed, and I looked at my phone and you'd sent me a text message but I don't remember, now awake, what it said. But I got up and walked to you, behind you, and you turned ever so slightly to see me. I don't know what was said, but somehow, as dreamland tends to do, we were fast-forwarded without motion into my kitchen. We stood at the butcher block island, and the back door was open: the air was spring. You took my right hand and said, "I want to see the wonder," and I showed you what remains of the mystery stress-related mess on my fingers. The one purple dot still puffs on my pointer finger, and you ran your thumb over it in the most natural of ways, then flipped open your palm to show me a small purple circle scar. The same, somehow, but nothing of it. It was then that our foreheads bumped together, pausing within an inhale, the skin warm and smooth but the moment broken by my body stirring awake.
Almost maybe we should.
Last night, you were across the room, sitting on a chair on band concert risers. I was sitting in a folding chair on the floor of the room. Girlyman was there, or at least 2/3 of them: Nate and Ty. They were going to perform, but they had this weird extra band with them, and I wasn't happy about it. Then everyone else there said they wanted Nate and Ty to play Christian rock songs, and I started getting pissed, and I looked at my phone and you'd sent me a text message but I don't remember, now awake, what it said. But I got up and walked to you, behind you, and you turned ever so slightly to see me. I don't know what was said, but somehow, as dreamland tends to do, we were fast-forwarded without motion into my kitchen. We stood at the butcher block island, and the back door was open: the air was spring. You took my right hand and said, "I want to see the wonder," and I showed you what remains of the mystery stress-related mess on my fingers. The one purple dot still puffs on my pointer finger, and you ran your thumb over it in the most natural of ways, then flipped open your palm to show me a small purple circle scar. The same, somehow, but nothing of it. It was then that our foreheads bumped together, pausing within an inhale, the skin warm and smooth but the moment broken by my body stirring awake.
Almost maybe we should.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
the realm of confliction
In one corner: My Best Friend's Wedding
is sizzling across my inherited widescreen tv.
I can't help but to watch even having seen the film
more than twice, at least.
And from the other room: shuffle, from "Edge of Seventeen"
straight into "Real." Appropros, you see, because I've started realizing
I don't know what real is, and by real,
I mean love.
Nearly 3 years in an unstable, unhealthy, unrealistic relationship
does amazingly awful things to your psyche.
I've been told over and over again
to cease all communication, but I unblocked her
and I wrote a three sentence response to a video
she forwarded me earlier this week.
I haven't sacked up the guts
to unfriend on Facebook, but maybe tomorrow.
Or the next day.
I woke up this morning fresh from a dream about her/
us. In it, I'd driven to see her, a surprise, and she had a cake
on her bed, and we made love, no,
we almost fucked,
right on the cake. I took red icing on my finger
and smeared it onto her nipple, my mouth followed
mixing saliva with tenderness and confusion and
red icing. But we stopped, despite her being
spread before me, my mouth already dancing
between her weeping thighs. We stood up
and walked away. And then I found a poster,
a card, in the bottom of her closet, and I kept smacking
the backs of her bare knees, caught between fury
and despair. She told her dad we were back together,
but I was already finding a way to leave. He was happy.
She didn't seem it. I just wanted to go.
When I woke up, I didn't know what the fuck to make of that
except for the reality of it: wanting to go, not knowing how,
hanging on, the obvious connection that always managed to break
itself.
And I had two missed calls this morning, one voicemail
that I later realized was unintentional. Both times she called
she must have known I wouldn't answer, and the voicemail
was long and obviously not meant to be left, as it was choked
with white noise and a cough. I think I just listened
to her falling asleep.
A familiar sound, as I was always awake
when she wasn't.
I don't know why she called.
And there's a good possibility that I don't want to know why she called,
either.
What I do know is this: I keep trying to let go
and I haven't lost my footing yet, but the trail is steep.
In another room, there have been comments
and brief messages, texts and otherwise.
Hardcore nerd flirting, I've been told. I'm a little dense,
though, and I don't know if She realizes that she is,
in fact, and truly finally sort of I think,
flirting.
And how I want that door to creak open.
is sizzling across my inherited widescreen tv.
I can't help but to watch even having seen the film
more than twice, at least.
And from the other room: shuffle, from "Edge of Seventeen"
straight into "Real." Appropros, you see, because I've started realizing
I don't know what real is, and by real,
I mean love.
Nearly 3 years in an unstable, unhealthy, unrealistic relationship
does amazingly awful things to your psyche.
I've been told over and over again
to cease all communication, but I unblocked her
and I wrote a three sentence response to a video
she forwarded me earlier this week.
I haven't sacked up the guts
to unfriend on Facebook, but maybe tomorrow.
Or the next day.
I woke up this morning fresh from a dream about her/
us. In it, I'd driven to see her, a surprise, and she had a cake
on her bed, and we made love, no,
we almost fucked,
right on the cake. I took red icing on my finger
and smeared it onto her nipple, my mouth followed
mixing saliva with tenderness and confusion and
red icing. But we stopped, despite her being
spread before me, my mouth already dancing
between her weeping thighs. We stood up
and walked away. And then I found a poster,
a card, in the bottom of her closet, and I kept smacking
the backs of her bare knees, caught between fury
and despair. She told her dad we were back together,
but I was already finding a way to leave. He was happy.
She didn't seem it. I just wanted to go.
When I woke up, I didn't know what the fuck to make of that
except for the reality of it: wanting to go, not knowing how,
hanging on, the obvious connection that always managed to break
itself.
And I had two missed calls this morning, one voicemail
that I later realized was unintentional. Both times she called
she must have known I wouldn't answer, and the voicemail
was long and obviously not meant to be left, as it was choked
with white noise and a cough. I think I just listened
to her falling asleep.
A familiar sound, as I was always awake
when she wasn't.
I don't know why she called.
And there's a good possibility that I don't want to know why she called,
either.
What I do know is this: I keep trying to let go
and I haven't lost my footing yet, but the trail is steep.
In another room, there have been comments
and brief messages, texts and otherwise.
Hardcore nerd flirting, I've been told. I'm a little dense,
though, and I don't know if She realizes that she is,
in fact, and truly finally sort of I think,
flirting.
And how I want that door to creak open.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
You always play the madmen poets
Despite my self-imposed moratorium on imbibing alcohol, I totally imbibed last night, and happily so. I haven't gotten that phone call where I say, "Hey chica, ¿que pasa? ... Oh my God, this must have been from Saturday night. I was so [drunk]. Who do you think got it?" [Cue laughing teenage girl receiving the debaucherous picture. Cue my mortification.], so I must be in the clear for Embarrassing Moments of '08. Actually, okay, let's be real. Yes, I had several beers, and subsequently lost track of exactly how many beers I drank. And yes, I did a Pass the Jell-O Shot Power Hour. And then I probably had a few more J-shots. HOWEVER. I avoided the Dirty Girl Scouts because I knew from my Mind Eraser experience a few weeks ago (note: the cause of the self-imposed alcohol moratorium) that I would definitely not so much lose my mind (or the sensation that I have legs, as happened with the Eraser) but would probably lose my shit.
And you know what? No thanks on that.
As always, flutters of Lesbian Drama abounded. I'd told Quack pre-party that I was going to leave at the first sight of L.D. but nothing escalated to the point where I felt the need to flee. I amended the fact that I'd been going around saying that T was dead to me. I observed more than anything, except for when someone was telling me to strip and then, obviously, I became very focused on that. I also gave a lap dance or three to the Obligatory Straight Guy -- in my totally un-serious lap dancing way, of course. I lectured, I laughed, I bemoaned, I challenged, I rocked at beer pong, I avoided, I received a heartfelt inebriated chat about my self-esteem and how I am amazing and deserve better than what I have, I wish I had chocolate chip cookies right now, I saw some of my favorite females, I called first dibs (again), I did not lose my shit. Truly a successful night.
What happened then, are my dreams from last night. Morning. Whatev.
The major dream was the glacier/dock/Olsen twins debacle. I was on the dock, leaving someone somewhere, and the Olsen twins pushed me off of the dock. I landed on a huge sliver of a melting glacier [source: I watched/listened to "An Inconvenient Truth" yesterday morning because I now have 10 channels of Showtime and am basically never leaving my house ever again, what with my Robe and my TV and my general distaste for sub-par human beings] and started slowly gliding away. The water was an intensely dark, deep blue- but not a typical ocean blue / not one that I've seen, anyway. We're talking deep royal blue with silvery flickers of ice. In the dream, I'm thinking Mothereffer, what's with the Titanic eyebrow-freezing? Is this my penance for going by the name of Rose's tortured, pennyless lover? [Side note: Leo & Kate are teaming up again for a new movie. Something about a dysfunctional marriage I think? A glimpse of what life would have been had Jack not perished via an untimely frozen death?] As I float away, perhaps to my own untimely death, all I see is water, that deeply blue should-be-haunting water. My glacier drift bashes into a much larger glacier and I have totally shifted tense which is something I nail my students for all the time but whatev, this is my blog. I shall squash the need to remain in a singular verb tense. /// So I'm now a little, well, soaked from the glacier-bashing incident. But that doesn't matter so much because the water crests over me, pulls me under, and now I am drowning and shaking myself awake with my half-asleep (half-dead?) attempts to inhale properly and deeply.
I'm tired of drowning. Are drowning dreams the same as falling dreams? That whole If You Don't Wake Up Before You Hit The Ground, YOU SHALL PERISH thing? I've had my share of those, too, though not in a while. This is the first nearly-drowning dream, which goes hand in hand with my nearly-choking-to-death-on-my-own-saliva experience from Friday.
And you know what? No thanks on that.
As always, flutters of Lesbian Drama abounded. I'd told Quack pre-party that I was going to leave at the first sight of L.D. but nothing escalated to the point where I felt the need to flee. I amended the fact that I'd been going around saying that T was dead to me. I observed more than anything, except for when someone was telling me to strip and then, obviously, I became very focused on that. I also gave a lap dance or three to the Obligatory Straight Guy -- in my totally un-serious lap dancing way, of course. I lectured, I laughed, I bemoaned, I challenged, I rocked at beer pong, I avoided, I received a heartfelt inebriated chat about my self-esteem and how I am amazing and deserve better than what I have, I wish I had chocolate chip cookies right now, I saw some of my favorite females, I called first dibs (again), I did not lose my shit. Truly a successful night.
What happened then, are my dreams from last night. Morning. Whatev.
The major dream was the glacier/dock/Olsen twins debacle. I was on the dock, leaving someone somewhere, and the Olsen twins pushed me off of the dock. I landed on a huge sliver of a melting glacier [source: I watched/listened to "An Inconvenient Truth" yesterday morning because I now have 10 channels of Showtime and am basically never leaving my house ever again, what with my Robe and my TV and my general distaste for sub-par human beings] and started slowly gliding away. The water was an intensely dark, deep blue- but not a typical ocean blue / not one that I've seen, anyway. We're talking deep royal blue with silvery flickers of ice. In the dream, I'm thinking Mothereffer, what's with the Titanic eyebrow-freezing? Is this my penance for going by the name of Rose's tortured, pennyless lover? [Side note: Leo & Kate are teaming up again for a new movie. Something about a dysfunctional marriage I think? A glimpse of what life would have been had Jack not perished via an untimely frozen death?] As I float away, perhaps to my own untimely death, all I see is water, that deeply blue should-be-haunting water. My glacier drift bashes into a much larger glacier and I have totally shifted tense which is something I nail my students for all the time but whatev, this is my blog. I shall squash the need to remain in a singular verb tense. /// So I'm now a little, well, soaked from the glacier-bashing incident. But that doesn't matter so much because the water crests over me, pulls me under, and now I am drowning and shaking myself awake with my half-asleep (half-dead?) attempts to inhale properly and deeply.
I'm tired of drowning. Are drowning dreams the same as falling dreams? That whole If You Don't Wake Up Before You Hit The Ground, YOU SHALL PERISH thing? I've had my share of those, too, though not in a while. This is the first nearly-drowning dream, which goes hand in hand with my nearly-choking-to-death-on-my-own-saliva experience from Friday.
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