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Barely Breathing


 

Today I am thankful for self-care

and not so thankful for bad self-hypnosis. 


I had a nightmare about four nights ago in which I stumbled across a dead body of someone who died in a fire. 

It was someone I care deeply about. 

My family of origin was full of fire-fighters.  Don't ask me how I know what a body of a burn victim looks like. 

I just know. 

I also know how it smells. 

((( sigh))) 

That topped off nightmares I had for over two months.  This one was so bad that I couldn't eat or drink.  I stepped on the scale and found that I lost five pounds in four days. 

Typically, I'd love that.  If I could do that five times over, I'd buy a bikini. 

That image is disturbing me. 

Once I hypnotized myself never to see this face in my dreams - but I see everything else and hear the voice, so I knew who it is. 

This time, I thought it would be cool to associate his dream presence with a smell - cinnamon.  I don't want to see him at all.  

I wasn't quite awake when I did this.  It was at 5:30 in the morning after four and a half hours of tossing, turning and fear of falling asleep. 

I chose cinnamon because it was something I could smell from something baked earlier. 

I just went with it. 

It was nice.  I had dreams.  I cannot recall who exactly was in it. 

It's been beautiful. 

It was stupid. 

*****

I had to bargain with my sixteen year old daughter to get her to buy a coat.  I only had one girl, the rest of the kids I've raised were lumberjacks. 

I'm not joking.  With the exception of my eldest daughter, all the other girls dress from the men's department  I will say that this is also true of the adolescents I've brought to live here after their parents kicked them out of the house for their sexual orientation. 

They hate shopping.  

I even gave them their own credit card in the hopes they'd buy themselves their own flannel. 

No go - 

It's starting to get cold.  The youngest is growing out of her coat.  

She refuses to shop either in person or via the web. 

My go to is bribery. 

I can't bribe her with money.  

I can't bribe her with food.  She cooks better than I. 

I can't bribe her with a car as she fears driving. 

The only thing I can bribe her with is 

fancy soap. 

When she was a toddler, we made soap together.  I stopped doing that when George Bush Jr. made it hard to get lye. 

Promises were made. 

She picked out a coat and boots. 

In turn, we went to a local soap shop. 

They had a special. 

Eight bars of fancy soap for $40. 

So....we got eight bars. 

Here's the problem......

Most of them smell like cinnamon. 

My house smells like cinnamon. 

It didn't even dawn on me until I tried to fall asleep just now. 

I think one of the girls baked apple cinnamon muffins - ugh! 

Stupid is as stupid does. 

I wonder if they make nose plugs? 

*****

My phone goes unanswered. 

I'm exhausted. 

My friends are worried about me. 

I have a guitar player buddy who is going to call me after my ultrasound tomorrow to make sure I actually unpacked my new bass and tuned it. 

Something is wrong with Siegfred if she has a brand new bass guitar in her bedroom that is still in its original box.

If it were a Peavey or a Steinberger, it would be tuned. 

It's a cheap Squire that I bought to mess around with and take to the rehab center. 

People know something is wrong. 

Tomorrow morning they will see if my tumor is growing. 

We'll see. 

Why am I broken now? 

I've lived with nightmares of this person for over thirty-three years. 

I've never dreamt of him dead 

- in a full body cast....yes.....

amputated limbs.....yes.....

talking to me about his problems.....yes....

in 2004, I had a dream I met him at a street fair and I wanted to introduce him to my husband....who was nowhere to be found....

I've dreamt some strange stuff.....but he's never been dead.  

It didn't work out.  It feels creepy to dream of someone you used to know very well. 

What would happen if I thought of the wrong kinds of things if I ran into this man and his spouse? 

That's mean. 

 I can't be like that. 

I don't want to have inappropriate energy around him should he be put back on my path. 

This has to stop. 


*****

If this person is dead to me, why not just give me dreams of 

I don't know.....

What are bad dreams? 

Clowns?  

To be quite blunt, with my red hair and ultra white skin, I kinda look like a clown. 

That's scary in my waking life. 

What else is scary? 

Going to work without a top on? 

Giving a conservative speech in an auditorium full of liberals out for blood within hours of Trump winning re-election? 

Being the only asexual person at an orgy? 

I've actually had that dream.  It was an orgy of political activists who were screwing each other and everyone else. 

Worse, I couldn't find the door. 

That dream was just as disturbing as it sounds. 

*****

There has to be a trigger. 

While I was shopping, I had a thought. 

There is literally a designer that has the exact same name as the pet name I gave him. 

Maybe I need to throw out half of my wardrobe? 

It's hard to go that far. 

The trigger could be death itself. 

People keep dying in my world.  I've lost two more former patients to overdoses.  I also lost my favorite boss last week. He was the one that pointed out that the stalking destroyed my self-confidence. 

Maybe it is the consistency of wearing black for the funerals that reminds me of all the death and destruction in my world back when we were together. 

What in the world is my problem? 

At least I hope it is only my problem. 

I pray I'm the only one of the two of us who gives the other any thought.  

I find it too painful to sleep and I wouldn't wish this on any body else. 

Maybe I'm saying the wrong prayer?  

It might be helpful to ask my higher power to explain the dreams to me.  

Love ya, 

S. 

Next morning edit: 

So....

as far as I can remember, the dreams didn't smell like cinnamon. 

The person is still in my dreams - but- he now looks like a tall blob of flesh topped with golden brown (he looks like what he looks like when my contacts get stuck in the corner of my eyes during our visits together). 

Just know - there are worse dreams to have of an ex than death. 

I'm off to bathe in a bunch of salt water. 

Every time this happens, 

my sister-aunt (the aunt who is just a few years older than I) 

will buy me the same book on Soul Contracts. 

I must have four or five copies by now. 

My daughter suggested that I read it. 

Maybe this harkens back to the promise I made years ago to always love him and be a friend to him? 

I never thought it would lead to trouble sleeping....

Love, 

S. 


 









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