In the past, I struggled with nightmares. Trauma-induced nightmares that would wake me up, breathless and sweating. I’m pleased to say that with a good healthy kick of Prazosin, and years of therapy, I don’t have those dreams often anymore. Now when I dream, it is usually right around the end of the world and I am fighting. With guns. And saving people. And looking for my dogs. And my sister. These aren’t nightmares, per say, but they are unpleasant. I also have a lot of dreams about showing up places inappropriately dressed. I don’t believe in dream interpretation, but I can imagine what some people would say about that. It is funny, though, to only have two types of dreams: end of the world dreams and inappropriately naked dreams. I’d like a little more variety.
I like this. It spoke to me, but I didn’t hear it. OK, kidding, obviously. There is so much truth in this quote, though.
DSB: What’s for dinner?
DSB: What’s wrong? What happened?
DSB: Do you not want to talk about it right now?
Me: *nodding head*
DSB: Come see me when you’re fit to have this conversation, because we ARE having this conversation.
And what I was trying to do was keep from crying, but he thought I was mad about something. Sometimes the tears come for no reason, and they will not go away. And he doesn’t get that, even when I explain it. Emotional times around my household lately.
Word to you, Mr. Oscar Wilde. When I was growing up, I wrote tons of poetry. Now, I can’t even read it. It’s to the point where, if a poem shows up in my reader, I just delete it. I can’t go there. All that time I spent gushing out my emotions on paper, in poetry form — that time is over and long gone and, while I wish I could still write like that, I appreciate the medicated and unable-to-write-or-read-poetry version of Rosa better. But Mr. Wilde is right, I am living it. You can’t read it or see it, but it lives on.
Amen to that. I’ve been through times when I’ve had tons of “friends,” who really I could probably only call acquaintances, and some not even that. Now I have a very very few friends, and they mean more to me, and are more to me, than any 790 Facebook friends I used to have. It’s funny who we choose to share our life with, and I think the better quality comes from sharing it less, but sharing it with people who get it more.