It took me ten minutes just standing in the shower, staring at the tile, to shake off the dream I’d just woken up from.
Three bears in the bed and the little one said…
That song is playing over and over in my brain. Along with too many images. I haven’t entirely shaken the dream and probably won’t. I’m due at work soon, so I don’t have time to hash it out here. Maybe later. Besides it’s all sort of foggy mess of faces and feelings now.
J and I in a bed. And then I notice, perched above his shoulder, propped up on too many pillows, the blonde. The other woman. She’d been the final straw in real life (thank god), and in the dream…
Three bears in the bed …
It felt too real. Too current. I woke up feeling used and embarrassed. And worthless. “He’s an archetype,” I remind myself, in case he emails this morning and I feel the need to reopen old wounds. The girl, long gone. The only unchanging part of the dream is me.
Three bears…
My old boyfriends turn into archetypes, too! They’re more useful that way, eventually. And I’m glad I’m not the only one who says to myself: “he’s an archetype.”
I think it must be noted that J has since emailed me saying he and the girlfriend would like to come visit for a weekend.
Clairvoyant? Maybe. But dudes, I reeeeally need a martini.
my first visit here…
cool blog.
thanks for writing
My dreams have been terrifying lately. Last weekend, I woke up hysterically crying. So, I feel your shock and disorientation…