Desire

I dreamed of you again last night.  


You sneak up on me, in my dreams.  You're not there & I'm just doing whatever, busy with life, not even thinking about you & then ~ there you are.  You sidle up to me, & suddenly I find you there, you're touching me, seductive & dangerous, tempting me to touch you.  


I can't help myself, in my dream.  Before I even know what I'm doing, without even thinking about it, I'm caressing you.  I've got you in my hands, my lips are on you & it feels sooooo good.  I've almost forgotten how good it feels.  


I can't believe I've gone this long without you, in my dreams.  I don't remember what made me stop, what made me banish you from my life.  It doesn't even enter my mind.  All I can think of is how good it feels to be with you again, how good you feel inside me, how alive & bad & fabulous & naughty & RIGHT it all is.


Then reality comes crashing in & I remember all the hurt, all the bad, all the reasons why I swore to never be with you again.  I remember how much I hated the effect you had on me, how horrible I always felt the next day no matter how good it felt to be with you in the moment.  I remember it all, & I look at me holding you & I am disgusted with myself ~ disgusted & saddened by how weak I am, how quickly I capitulated, how eager I was to have you touch me again.  I remember how much I loved you & how you only returned my emotions with destruction.


& then I wake up.


& give silent thanks that yesterday marks 2 years since I quit smoking.






The desire nevah, evah goes away.  I can only hope that my desire to stay smoke-free remains stronger.

3 Years

I dream of you often.


You come into my life as suddenly as you left it, & after I am over my shock & surprise at finding you alive, we have such a great visit. "I thought you were dead!" I exclaim.  You scoff.   We talk of nothing & everything.  We laugh.  We gossip.  We hug.  


It is such a relief, in my dream, to know that I was mistaken, that you are not dead; that you have just been away; that I have had a weird dream that convinced me you were gone.  I am thrilled to see you, to hear your laugh, to touch you, to know that your 3 daughters & 2 grandsons are not without you in their lives.


After we catch up, you carry on your merry way, saying "See ya!" "See you soon," I echo, a feeling of peace flowing over me.


Such a feeling of peace.


I wake up to find it's been just a dream ~ that your death is the reality & this dream has been a cruel hoax.

Each time, it's like losing you all over again. 


I like to believe that you are visiting me.  You were a believer in many things: psychics & the afterlife, visitations & hauntings.  Why can't I believe in you? 


If it is you, please don't stop.  Your visit is worth the pain.

The Best Sleeping Drug I Never Took

The Puffster & I have a new addition in Chez Wilma ~ a monster bed! We have both been having back/neck troubles, not been sleeping well, & just generally been dissatisfied with the comfort level & support offered by our {only!} 7 year old bed, so we bit the bullet & bought a new one.

Does anyone remember The Princess & The Pea? Anyone? Bueller? I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say this new bed is EXACTLY like that. I have to hike up onto it like a child! I may need a stool. It is even with my waist. My waist!




Oh, but what a sleep! This bed is a little piece of heaven that floated down to embrace our old, tired bodies during the night. Why did we wait so long?

Oh, but what dreams I had! I was hanging with Shannon Doherty & the rest of the 90210 gang, until it suddenly morphed into Melrose Place & Jake came riding along to offer us a lift to somewhere. Also, had a rehearsal where everyone was drunk, & the Demon Spawn was there terrorizing the neighbourhood. Along the way, I was officiating a drinking game at a sorority house, while running up & down stairs.

Slept a full 11 hours. That's right. 11 hours! Didn't want to get up, but my bladder ~ which is, coincidentally the size of a pea ~ insisted.

If you're in the market for a new bed, I highly recommend this one, the Serta Slumber Form Crowne II with the Euro Top. But not mine ~ get your own.

The Accents Are Easy, It's The Beatings That Are Hard

Last night, well, early this morning, I dreamt I was on a tour of England with FancyPants. We were staying in a shabby little room above a shabby little local pub. FancyPants was down in the pub making friends & discussing politics {or whatever, that detail is fuzzy} & I blundered down the stairs to join her & the locals after "freshening up". I was nervous to talk too much cuz I didn't want to offend the English people.

Then I woke up.

Why would I be offending the British? I am part British myself, FYI. How could I offend them?

Boys & girls, I have a personality quirk. Not really sure if you can characterize it as personality, or faulty wiring in the brain, or mayhaps the headache bump is just pressing on a certain area but I pick up accents really easily. Too easily. When Bronco B's cousins from London visited, I had one day, ONE DAY's grace of speaking like I normally do, then I was full-on British accent for the duration of their stay.

I can't help it. I automatically pick up accents. Accents, nuances of speech, even flamboyant gestures all work their way into my psyche. Mayhaps, I'm just incredibly suggestible.

I narrowly avoided calamity on a cruise once while talking to some girls from Long Island. I had been partaking of the free beverages supplied on a day-trip {yummy, Margaritas!} & was extremely susceptible to their accents. It took less than 10 minutes & I was talking & gesturing wildly just like a Long Island Local. It could have come to blows. I could have been engaged in a beat-down. Luckily, they were also well into the Margarita glass & accepted my slurred explanation.

Cuz no-one should mess with girls from Long Island. Those chicks can take care of themselves. & I'm not 1/8th as tough as Margaritas make me believe I am.

Tears On My Pillow

I woke up crying this morning. This happens occasionally & is directly linked to my vivid imagination. Events happen in my dreams ~ which are very realistic & feel like they are actually happening ~ that set me off. It's not always sad, sometimes I wake up laughing. Or mad at PK for something he did or didn't do in my nocturnal wanderings.

This morning I was back in high school {uh oh. Touchy subject. Mine field. Should we go there? Yes, let's.} My friends & I were in the gym after school practicing our cheer leader routines when some random boys team {my dreams feel real, but are sometimes vague on the details} came in & said it was their practice time & told us to get out. The coach concurred. The coach, John G., got into an argument with me {of course, I'm a big-mouth in la-la land as well} about how we didn't have a teacher supervisor & he didn't care if our group was a go or not.

Why would this make me cry? It's such a seemingly random, silly thing to dream about. However, it's grounded in reality, not realistic-dreams reality, but past-happenings-actual-events reality.

A motley crew of us decided to form a cheer leading squad in grade 11. We practiced diligently, created routines, wrote cheers, bought our own matching outfits {blue shaker-knit sweaters & black stirrups pants ~ it was damn cold out there, thank you very much} & attended games. High school politics being what they are, we weren't the most popular girls. We weren't the prettiest. We weren't the girls that dated the guys from the football team. Those girls were busy doing their own thing. Those girls were on the volleyball team. Those girls would attend football games drinking wobbly-pops in their cars. Those girls were "too cool" to be cheerleaders.

Our teacher supervisor, Velma G. decided to form 2 squads, with the 2nd squad made up of some very enthusiastic, more popular, very bendy junior students. Each squad took turns cheering on the sidelines of home & away games. Now, riding on the smelly bus with a bunch of sweaty teens was not exactly the fulfillment of all our hopes & dreams, but it was part of the gig, so we lived with it.

Wouldn't you know, wouldn't you just guess, can't you see this coming, for 2 games in a row that we were the squad, the team lost. For 2 games in a row the juniors were on the sidelines, the team won. So, the natural, most obvious reason for this would be that our squad was a jinx. Wouldn't you agree? It really was the most logical conclusion. The team requested the junior squad only accompany them to games. The coach agreed with the team. We protested the fairness of the situation. Velma G. got pissed off & disbanded both squads. End of cheer leading.

I know somewhere, buried under an avalanche of crap, is a photo of the squad doing a pyramid sometime before "CheerGate" as I have so cleverly decided to call it. If I ever find it, I'll post it here. You have to see the happiness on our faces. We really believed in what we were doing. We really tried hard to be funny, entertaining, innovative leaders of the cheer. I thought it might be in one of my old yearbooks, but there isn't a word, not a peep, not a photo or even a shadow of a photo to even suggest that such a group ever existed.

This event wasn't the first time the cold, harsh hand of reality slapped me across the face & it certainly wasn't the last, but obviously the sting is still there.

Or there wouldn't have been tears on my pillow this morning.