I bounce back and forth in the early a.m. between NPR and Kansas City's Rocket and Teresa, based on my tolerance for the occasionally (far too) leftist propaganda* or overplayed chart music, respectively. Yesterday, I was too foggy minded to bother changing when R+T posed a listener's Q as to whether or not it's appropriate to continue wearing jewelry given to you by an ex. Queue the snores. I could give two hoots about that but it led me to think about a ring my high school boyfriend gifted me; a brow-raising situation on my parents' part as to which finger that ring was intended. Nice boy, but he could have never been the one. I had a wave of misery on my drive to work, imagining that life. In that life, I'd still be suffocating in our small town. I'd be wearing the pants, but bored to tears without an intellectual challenge. I'd be comfortable financially and forever, thanks to his parents, but I wouldn't be who I am today. I'm grateful for my reality.
I've been sleeping lightly my whole life, but exceptionally the last number of days and have therefore been able to call to lucid mind, dreams from the night prior. When I first moved to the city and was cocktailing, I'd run the two blocks home in the very wee and shady hours of the morning. I frequently had nightmares- dark and menacing dreams where I was attacked... but wait, I always came out ahead; always a dramatic denouement of me killing the attacker(s). I choose to believe my subconscious was advising, "You're tougher than you know, girl! Yes, be alert, but have faith in your faculties, your mind and physicality." You learn to be selective about those with whom you share your dreams; the audience to which you portray yourself as a serial killer. I look back and smile about those nightmares.
In the dream world I entered last night, there were no ominous figures, but terror of a different type. I was pressured by a vague mass of people to marry my high school boyfriend with irrational urgency. Silly to the max, I'm aware. "You have to! Today! So you can share his insurance plan!"** "It's only temporary. You can always marry Phil later!" "Today!" You know how utterly ridiculous dreams can be.. and throughout the dream I'd say with full confidence, "but Phil is here! It's him! He's the answer!"
I woke mid-night in the most rotten of moods (not to mention filling Teddy's water cup to the brim only for it to slip from my fingers like the 300 gallon bucket at Splash Cove). Phil stirred to my sunuvabitch! and squeezed me tightly as I returned to bed. I lied there and in the true course of thoughts formed in the witching hour, I allowed myself to get terribly agitated by the idea of a wedding. Not marriage at all, but a wedding. P and I are practically an old married couple. A mild exaggeration, yes, but we've been together nearly 7 years. His money is my money and mine his. I not-so-secretly wish we were already married. A wedding of my own gives me anxiety in a very serious way. The planning, the price and production of it all excites me like a bellyache and I'm thanking dear down-to-earth that my Phillylove feels the same. He's on my team, that one. We can do whatever the eff we want or don't, and cheers to that reality. Cheers!
*I'm lean socially liberal, but fiscally more conservative... not that I need to clarify.
**My employers generously foot my individual insurance bill. I love them for it.
+ I have never killed anyone IRL.