Why, I ask you, am I having very vivid dreams about Mr. Luscious? As I�ve mentioned before, Mr. Luscious is a co-worker of mine, who also happens to be a friend. I think he�s a babe but I dare not taint our budding friendship with a statement like �I want to have your babies starting now�, which would not go over well. He�d probably run away.
Friday night, I was really exhausted. I slept very soundly and I�m glad to report that I didn�t take my mask off at all. Most of the night I was just sleeping, but toward the end of it, I�m in this dream. I�m hanging� out in San Diego by the beach. The sky is brilliantly blue. I�m sitting on a wall facing the ocean, and my feet are buried in the hot sand. And right in front of me is Mr. Luscious, wearing a cherry red Speedo, making a sand castle. He�s really meticulous in shaping the object. At first I thought it was going to be a castle with two towers, one on each end. Finally though, as he ran his finger round and round on the top of each tower, that it was apparent that this was not a castle, but instead, a pair of boobs.
Breasts.
Cones.
A rack.
Oh, my cheeks were red. He�s smiling very big now. Ha ha.
What would Freud say about this?
I didn�t want to wake up. Maybe it�s because in my real life, I really like this guy and I can talk to him. Maybe it�s because I feel I don�t get enough time with him and dreaming lets me have that. Maybe I think that he�s got something on his mind and he wants to talk to me about it but he can�t.
I wouldn�t know what to say to him about this. So, I�ll keep it to myself. Like always. Repression is the best!
You would�ve thought that after I had this happy dream that I�d be in a good mood on Saturday. Unfortunately, I had an argument with Mr. Sweatpants on Friday night. Rene� backed out on the Kansas City trip. I was so upset for so many reasons, and I was beyond livid that he would put a stupid 10K race ahead of our plans we made a month ago.
When I got up on Saturday, I was sort of in a good mood from the dream with Mr. Luscious. However, the more time went by, the more I knew Rene� wasn�t going to change his mind. I got really depressed.
Badly depressed.
Deeply depressed. And angry.
I was really disappointed that Rene� didn�t understand how important it was to me to see my brothers, whom I�ve never met, and for my daughter to meet my Dad�s family, when they are all together, on the Thanksgiving that they moved to the Saturday after, for me. So that I could attend. And now I couldn�t.
I guess when you grow up being close to your family and knowing all of them like he has, you probably take family gatherings for granted. Always another time, you say.
However, if you are like me, and didn�t grow up knowing your family, then you�d probably be saddened by a missed opportunity to see them. He doesn�t understand how I feel. They�re bipolar too, a lot of them, and it would be neat be around people that understand me.
And even though his brain finally woke up and he realized he�d screwed up, it is an opportunity missed to me. A bit too late, my dear.
Rene� came over Saturday night for a little bit. I wasn�t very talkative, but he was busy apologizing so I didn�t really have to say much. He filled the hour in with good excuses for bailing on me.
Rene� always tucks us in (he has a key) and he was telling us good night when I just started crying. I couldn�t help it. I was sobbing. Embarrassing.
I told him, �I hate my life. I�m not happy right now.� I was talking about Thanksgiving, my bipolar, my job, my weight and the DNA review. I don�t think he knew what to say about it, so he instead said, �Let�s say our goodnight prayers.� Yes, I like avoiding heavy subjects too, you butthole.
I let him pray while I silently leaked tears all over my pillow. I couldn�t explain it to him more than I could to anyone else. That it doesn�t take much to please me but when I�m disappointed it really affects me. I know disappointment is a part of life, but I still hate it. I think I�ve had more than my share, and I guess that makes me somewhat of a baby. Oh well.
***************************************************
(I�m slobbering. Oh, how EMBARRASSING! Yet another side effect of my wonderful bipolar medication. SEXY!!)
*****************************************************
Sunday, I was determined not to be depressed. Though I didn�t have a plan of action, I still got up and got dressed and put on my make-up. I then made Jackie some (ew) scrambled eggs, turkey bacon and buttermilk biscuits. She ate it. A good sign, maybe my cooking is not so bad after all.
Mr. Sweatpants called around noon and asked if we wanted to go for a walk on the trail at Jefferson Barracks Park. Exercise. Yuck. I told him I�d think about it and call him back.
Jackie�s been bugging me for a while to let her take her bike to the park so she can ride around in the big parking lot, so I decided to take her over there an hour early to ride. I tried to fit the stupid bike in the trunk and it didn�t fit. I was cussing up a storm now. I finally got it into the back seat. She grabbed her helmet and we were off.
It�s only about a 7-minute ride to the park on a good day, so we got there with 50 minutes to burn. Jackie had a blast, but before long, she was bored and wanted to go to the trail. She must get her attention span from her mom. Awww!
We were early.
I knew that the last time we were at the park, Jackie had to go to the bathroom in the middle of our walk. Rene� took her over to the bushes and let her go there. Guess what? She ended up with chigger bites on her nether regions. She was mad. Wanting to prevent that, I took her to one of the shelters and let her go there in the ladies room. This child has no bladder capacity, I tell you.
We went to the trail to wait for Mr. Sweatpants. Of course Jackie had to go up and down the monkey bars about 7-8 times so that helped burn up some time.
Eventually, Grandpa, I mean, Rene� got to the park. I pulled Jackie�s bike out of the car and told her to put her helmet on. Can you believe she rode the trail 1 mile on her bike, after 10-15 laps in the parking lot, made multiple trips on the monkey bars, and she still wasn�t tired?
The walk really lifted my spirits. It gave me time to think about my depression. Rene� wanted to talk but I was more interested in being quiet. There were things I needed to work out in my head, so he got a lot of �yeah�s� from me.
I didn�t know exactly why I was depressed, but I knew it was real. This depression is nothing like the September depression, but it still bites. The walk helped for a little while. I think that�s what it�s about, finding ways to get you over the little humps. I don�t think anyone knows all the answers. I just have to find out what works for me.
09:08 - Monday, Dec. 01, 2003
Recent entries:
What you missed - January 16, 2012
%%older_entries%%From hell - October 19, 2010
%%older_entries%%a rant from a few weeks ago - August 17, 2010
%%older_entries%%Tired - June 20, 2010
%%older_entries%%A beautiful lie - March 11, 2010
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