Dreams from last night

These are just bits and pieces of dreams:

Susan White;

I knew her from high school.  She was one of the untouchables for someone like me.  Of course, Wendy was one of the untouchables.  Anyway in the dream she came to visit the place where I live.  We talked and had "meaningful" conversations but I can't remember what we talked about of course.  I remember telling her about there being flights direct to Denver from the place where I live.  I remember her not being that excited about it.  She is a flight attendant on that airline that will be providing the service.  There was someone else present in the dream it may have been my housemate.  This person asked me if I asked why she came to visit me.  I had not.  I remember talking to this second person looking out the front window of my house.  The view was up a road that winded up into mountains.  It was foggy or maybe just a grey day.  I never did find out why she came to visit.  This melded into the next dream.

Wendy:

I was holding her.  In part of the the dream we were naked together. No sex.  It was sort of sexual but not really.  I do remember kissing her on her neck and cheek and holding her tight but there was no "arousal."  This time she seemed perfectly healthy. Although I recognized her as Wendy in the dream when the image of her (in the dream) comes to mind that image doesn't look like her at all.  We knew the cancer was there and we were kind of in this mode where we were waiting for something to happen. . . 

Finally I remember walking around Wendy's house.  It had an upstairs.  There was a den.  The master bedroom was the entire size of the house I actually live in which is really Wendy's house.

There was more but that is about all I can remember.

Some thoughts on perception.

My ex-wife sees me through the lens of the person she knew over fourteen years ago.  To a large extent, I believe I have changed.  At least in how I behave.  I have to admit I still let my thoughts do the "self will run riot" thing.  But my actions and outward behavior have changed.  All the people I know in the place where I live don't know and have never met the person that my ex knew.  When I talk about the way I was they are in disbelief.  They can't imagine.

Through the lens with which my ex-wife sees me all my actions, behaviors, things I say, facial expressions, questions I ask, every little nuance, even the way I walk are filtered to answer one question.  "How is he manipulating me?"  She always comes up with an answer.  It is a stunning testament to the way I was.

My solution:  Stay the fuck away from her and only communicate with her when absolutely necessary and then only by text.

A post to Facebook

There are lots of things shared on facebook - pictures of fun times, cute succinct sayings of wisdom. cynical sayings, the vitriol of political debate, and sometimes downright hurtful sarcasm. However, shares about the experience of the depth of loss are rare. You shared about loss which is a real piece of you. The result is a connection which transcends the differences that divide people. I really appreciate posts like this probably because I can relate in a somewhat profound way.

 I’ve been coming apart for the last three years. I know I will continue to do so. I think this may be the price of love. I get to a point where I think, “Ah, I’m good now!” and the wave comes rushing back in. I agree with you. It’s not about the opal. It’s about the incomprensible absence - the void - the vacuum left in her wake. I’ll pull a plate out of the cupboard and another will come crashing to the floor and all I can think is, “There goes another part of her.” The plates were hers.

 Thanks for your post.

On Vacation

Went on vacation with my lesbian housemate.  It was one of the best if not the best vacation I have ever been on.  Bare in mind my phone died just prior to the vacation and as we were driving out there my front tooth fell out due to recent dental work.  I managed to keep it together though.

I so don't want to work today.

But I have to.  Come on . . . Pull it together.