In the Night

Had a nightmare last night. One of those set-in-the-present moment type nightmares, i.e. in the dream I'm doing exactly what I'm doing in real life, lying in bed, here in my apartment.

I hear the door to my apartment open. It's 4 a.m. Door closes, and I hear someone walking around. I realize it's one of my brothers, because I hear him talking to one of the cats in a goofy voice. It sounds exactly like him, and he refers to my cat by name. The talking stops, but movement continues. For the life of me I cannot figure out what my brother would be doing here at 4 a.m., or where he got a key.

I get up nervously and go out into the hallway. I flip the light switch, but the light won't go on. "Paul is that you?" The voices changes, becoming flat and hollow. "No." I stand at the top of the stairs, continuing to flip the light switch to no avail. I see a shadowed figure at the bottom of the stairs, traced very slightly at the head and shoulder in bluish light.

I try to elevate and project my voice, saying "Leave!" but nothing more than a swallowed whisper comes out. I keep trying, "Leave now!" Totally ineffectual. The figure begins to ascend the staircase, and disappears from view in the darkness of the stairwell. I somehow manage to grab a coffee table book and raise it above my head, but have no confidence in my ability to effectively strike this being that seems to be coming towards me.

I wake up. Totally fucking panicked. I needed the cats near me, and thankfully they were, purring now that I was awake, and completely nonplussed. I needed to pee but could not bring myself to go downstairs. I considered texting a couple of friends but felt too ridiculous. I was fucking scared and feeling like I needed protection.

Instead of contacting anyone, I started writing, scribbling down stuff unrelated to the dream. Relationship stuff, the kind of stuff I think about in the middle of the night and it makes a lot of sense and seems very logical and obvious at the time, and I tell myself I'll remember, of course I will, and of course I rarely do.

Eventually I fell asleep again, but not very well. I know the dream is not terribly interesting, but it was terribly vivid, and I need to throw it out and get rid of it. The vulnerability and aloneness I felt was intense and I hated it.

I feel like I've been warding off darkness a lot lately, getting tangled in my thoughts and feelings, worrying a lot and just generally being prone to depression and even despair. On Tuesday I go to see my counselor, the one I usually only contact when I'm in deep crisis. I'm not there yet, in crisis, I'm just trying to head it off, and I guess that means something. Actually, I think it means a lot. Having spent way more money than I ever would have imagined I'd be willing to on a 10 part Rolfing series that is almost done, I am now thinking I need to start seeing this counselor at least once a month, money be damned.

I feel like I have a lot at stake, and I need to respect it and give it full attention. Even saying that feels good and empowering. My challenge has been to stay open and trusting instead of closing off and alienating myself from people and the world around me.

One of the things I've learned in observing and experiencing others in the context of family, friends, intimate relationships, is not just learning how to be, but also how not to be. I think the latter is almost more instructive and important. I know a fair number of people who feel they are running out of chances, time, trust, energy, possibilities, with hearts and egos that have been scarred, abused, and horribly misunderstood.

I don't want to be a closed, brittle statement, I want to believe in the comma, I want to make enough room in my heart for joy and pain to live together, and have more room yet for the joy and pain of others.

And tonight, I want sweet dreams.

Ghosts

Beep.


Beep.


Beep.





"Sounds like that other guy you're fucking left you a message."

"Mm."

A green flash through the white fabric of my white ("Look at the snow bunny") jacket.

"You had to get the most expensive phone."
"They gave me a deal. It was cheap, actually."

You were #1 on my list. You were the first person I called. And when I came across my first cell phone tonight, the one that so vexed you, the one that died after it got shipped in the mail, after I forgot it at the hotel that you were supposed to stay at with me in Newport- (the one I planned for, and paid for, and confirmed with you, the one you left after taking me out to dinner, "I have to go to work tomorrow. I can't stay. You should relax and enjoy yourself," the one from whose window I watched you walk down the street, imperious, closed, self-absorbed) - I decided to plug it in.

Beep.
Searching...
my name.

My name. Address book. Alec. Andy. Andrea.

I have a message?

I was talking to a friend the other day about missing this phone, about how I never would have replaced it if it weren't for its untimely death.

I don't know if I can properly convey how weird it is for this phone to be "working" (it's not really connected to my account now, even though it sort of thinks it is - I tried dialing out on it and it wouldn't let me.) As I mentioned, it was my first cell phone. And as I intimated, it was perceived as a bit of a threat to my boyfriend at the time. He had a "mobile phone" starting when they were first available sometime in the 80's - as well as being huge, and attached to your car, and fucking expensive, relatively speaking. He even has an "old school" number, i.e. a phone number that has an actual "normal" prefix, one that looks like a regular old landline for this area.

Whenever my cell phone would ring, or beep because it had a message waiting, as it was doing tonight, he would make a comment similar to the one at the beginning of this post. As I sorted through other stuff in the spare room tonight, hearing the Beep of the phone was fucking with my head. The sheer volume and intensity of associations was astounding. His number, of course, was among the "last 10 dialed." Fucking weird.

In other news, I am fine. Just away from the computer a lot. Participated in the Iraq War Moratorium again tonight, that was good but a little... FUCKING COLD! I know, wimpy! Well, to be fair, it was wicked windy... I could hardly chew my pizza later on at my mom's. My muscular disorder doesn't agree with the cold, is all.

However, every part of me agreed with the several appropriately named "Dark & Stormy" drinks I consumed tonight (that's Gosling's Black Rum and Ginger Beer - effing yummy, try it!) But I'm done with all that and trying to do a tiny bit of catching up here. As usual, sorry for the lack of regular posts. I've really been playing catch up in lots of areas, and I feel like I could use, oh, about a month to myself.

*pause*

At this point last night my computer started fucking with me, so I abandoned this post temporarily. Not much to add tonight. Earlier I was fucking around with these:

I was making baby food. Tomorrow night I will make some pearsauce, for babies and adults, now that I finally have the vanilla bean (All $5.50 of it - one bean.) I'll also be making an upside down carmelized pear tart. Sounds yummy, huh? The pears were "drops" from my friend's neighbor. Some are a bit funky looking on the outside, but they are gorgeous, sweet, and perfect under the peel.

Kinda like a lot of people I know. Hope everyone is having a great weekend...

Blah blah blah

A bunch of these darling little Asian Ladybugs have established residency in my apartment. As I sat on my couch the other day I looked up to observe one... two... three, four... twenty? of the little lost souls dotting the perimeter of the room where the ceiling met the wall. Since then I have unfurled the shades only to find them nestled innocently within them, or clustered in tiny groups of three or four in odd corners, congregating briefly before their certain fate.

I've been moving them around tonight as I clean, from the dusty tabletop to the slick surface of a CD, plucking cat hairs off of them as I go. Some have buzzed busily around lightbulbs, others have become temporary objects of interest to the cats.

In other news I'm drinking more of that ass-kicking cider. It's sorta the bomb. May have to take another jaunt south to pick up some more over the weekend.

Also, I've been rearranging furniture. The goal is to establish some kind of workable space for a studio. Ish. Have decided I do not want to work upstairs in what has become a giant walk-in closet/junkroom. It's just not going to work. Something about the temperature (cold) and the crooked floor (haven't measured the degree to which it's off, but I know it's significant) make it... well, uncomfortable. Also there's only one window that faces out to the trashy neighbor's house and driveway.

My bedroom floor is also crooked. The other day I decided to switch the position of my bed due to the fact that I continued to be plagued by this feeling that I was slightly - rolling to one side? So now my feet are ever so slightly elevated above my head - I thought that made more sense than the other way around. If I'm being honest I have to say I've been sleeping better since.

Other news? I'm entering a deaccessioning stage. I have a lot of stuff I need to get rid of, some of which may not be be easy to part with, but is nonetheless necessary to part with. It feels good. I just feel like I'm prioritizing, and that's a good thing.

Can I mention one more thing? My boyfriend's 10 month old daughter was playing with his cellphone yesterday and somehow managed to hit the just the right combination of buttons to call me at home while I was at work. No, I was not the last person he had called. It had to be a sequence of at least 4 or 5 buttons before managing to call me. She somehow did this. Then dialed my number again.

I'm sorry. But I'm kind of fucked.

Confessions

I didn't really notice how long it had been since I last posted. Busy, I guess.

A lot on my mind. I want opinions. Please bear in mind I'm in the midst of drinking some ass-kicking hard cider from Clyde's Cider Mill. I'll be talking in simple terms and simple language.

I'm 38 years old. I think of that number, that age - I have certain associations. Expectations, maybe. Nobody ever, ever guesses or believes that's my age. Most people guess 25 max, that's the God's honest truth. I am routinely carded for alcohol wherever I go. It's fine, it's all good. Can be strange and funny at times. I enjoy freaking people out with that fact, my age.

In the middle of June - my birthday, to be exact - I officially became romantic with the lovely, wonderful, kick-ass guy I am still dating. He's 25 years old, turning 26 this month, with a young daughter. Nope, didn't cheat on the mom or anything like that - has been well over a year since they've been romantic in any way.

He and I click and relate on about a million levels. His face is a face I feel like I could look at and love forever. He has been amazingly supportive, mature, real, communicative, patient, accomodating, loving. The sex is passionate and pure. His daughter has taken to me quite easily and naturally, to the point where, when I was in the presence of her and her mom the other day, she reached her little arms out and flung her body towards me to be held. I mumbled some kind of excuse to her mom as to why she had done this, realizing it potentially might've been hurtful to her.

And there's the moving away thing, happening at some point in the spring. I told him a few months ago - "I would never move there." I sounded pretty definite, and I felt that way. But it's a few months later, and some things have shifted in my heart and brain.

He's a heckuvaguy, and has done nothing other than continuing to plan for the necessary move to cause me anxiety and/or distrust. (Yes, the move is necessary and unavoidable, really. Long story for another day.) So why am I so scared? Why do I feel the nagging potential of self-sabotage coming on, sometimes quite forcefully? I literally sit there thinking - "He'll find someone else younger, prettier, better. I'm just something to do until he moves away. A novelty. A great story for later. I might as well end it now, before I get hurt." Yup. Pathetic. I swallow and swallow and swallow painful fears and anxiety. He sees the inner turmoil, he tries to draw me out, but I brush it off, not knowing exactly what to say or how to say it. Not wanting to show my fear and weakness.

"Protecting" myself before I get duped. Brilliant. It's lose-lose, this way of thinking, I'm painfully aware of it, but tormented about how to address it pro-actively. I'm afraid of losing him, but watching myself do everything I shouldn't be doing if that's what I'm really afraid of.

I'm giving just the partial sketch here of a deeply conflicted situation. There's much more to it. I'm trying to stop myself from deeply screwing myself.

As I sit here drinking this hard cider I'm thinking he and I need to get sloppy on it and wrestle (did I mention we like to wrestle each other? No, I mean really wrestle.) some of this shit out. I apologize to anyone that bothers checking in here for the dearth of posts.

Shit on my mind. I'm trying. All advice gratefully accepted.