Water Water

I dreamed last night that water was streaming through the ceilings of my apartment.

(When I was a little girl, I lived in an old farm house which had been converted into a duplex and probably should have been condemned , oh, 20 years go. Water came through the ceilings there sometimes.  And squirrels.)

In my dream, I panicked and ran upstairs to yell at my stupid hippie neighbors for running so much water. But when I got up there, all I found was Joseph Gordon Levitt living in a palatial apartment. He apologized profusely for the water damage and told me that since his girlfriend had just died that I should just move into his much nicer place.

My landlady came over to discuss the much nicer apartment with me and said that I had to accept a special deal in order to live there. As long as this place was my home, I had to clean up after everyone in the building.

As long as I agreed to clean up other people’s messes, I could have a beautiful life. And as soon as I stopped cleaning, it was back down to the waterlogged one-bedroom for me.

At the very painful end of a relationship that I thought was going to last the rest of my life (I’m 0 for 2, you guys), I can only shake my head at the heavy-handed metaphor my sad little brain dreamed up for me.  I’m tired of other people’s messes. I’m going to do what I have to do to start tending to my own.

Splitting The Baby

I’ve kept my job, and lost my man. And I wonder when the day will come that I don’t wake up and wish wish wish that things could be so so so different. 

These Changing Times

This fucking guy. I’ve been hanging out with this man for 366 days. And in that time, our feelings for each over have grown so much! so fast! He has brought more joy to my life than I ever thought I would feel when I was going through my divorce. I love this man, and I have loved being loved by him. He has challenged me and just by being himself, inspired me to be a better person. A more honest, kinder person. But. Buuuuuut. The other night I seriously considered smothering him as he slept in my bed, and honestly he most likely would

have welcomed the silence of death versus hearing all that I was shrewing at him. (I’m making that a verb now. So.)

I  have dreams, and he has his own. There’s shit I’m good at, and shit he isn’t good at, and, well. I’m 30, my dudes. I am 30 and I have a biological imperative to pro-create and if it’s not with this guy? It’s going to be with someone, and I want it to be soon. And it’s not an ultimatum of, “Get me pregnant, you monster that I love,” but moreso the question of, “Do we love each other enough to figure out what’s wrong or is it just time to pack it in?” I mean, how much space and leeway do you give a romance before you realize, with the heaviest of black hearts, that loving someone just isn’t enough? I don’t know. With my divorce, we got to napalm levels of hatred for each other. We didn’t want to be friends or even share the same Earth. But now, there’s a man I love whose family I also adore, whose friends have become mine – how do we do this? At what cost?

On top of this, I’m facing unemployment. My job was always temporary, freelance, finite. But I loved making the money, and I got cocky, and now: I  might be alone again and I might be poor again. And I’m so scared. If I don’t have my man by my side and I’m not working for a living, I essentially have no idea who I am. My identity is tied up in the people I love and care for, and the work (any work) that I do.

I am devastated. I am terrified. I am in a position to choose whatever I want. To move away and start a new life, or to burrow deep in my blankets and ignore it all…or? What? I don’t have a goddamn clue, and I am so scared.