Possible Lessons in the Nightmares

 

Today I am thankful for Monopoly. 

At least it is a useful metaphor. 

In the back of my mind, I realize that I cannot date until I figure out the lesson in the dreams.  I cannot pass Go.  I cannot collect $200.  My sex life will stay in jail until I can stop screaming out a certain name in horror in the middle of the night. 

Although, I'm realizing that the dreams of the tall deceased guy in the mountains were about Richard.  Perhaps his soul was trying to let someone know why he didn't make it in to work.  He was very dedicated and he never called in sick. I could see him refusing to go into the white light until he called in, so to speak.

Once I realized who it was, that particular dream stopped.  

There are other dreams.  

I need to find the lesson or only date people with the name I scream out.  Since the only people I know with that name are politicians who are happily married, I think it's best I stay unattached. 

In searching for the lessons, I found two more. 

****
First, my latest epiphany is that I take on far too much. 

This causes men to act out to get my attention.  To come to this understanding, I worked backwards. 

I started with the guy I dated two weeks at a time. The last time I seriously dated anyone was seven years ago. 

The last guy wound up in the hospital with unspecific complaints every few weeks when he broke up with me. My friends said it was a ploy to get me back. He always listed me as his emergency contact.  I'd wind up at the hospital in the same place my mother died (so I hated going there).  It got to the point, my friends could predict when I'd wind up at Swedish Hospital based on his behavior towards them on Facebook. He'd pick fights with my friends to get my attention. 

In fact, he often complained that I was far too busy and that he needed attention. 

****
The relationship before that lasted 26 years.  This man never complained to me - he complained to his family and his coworkers.  I learned about his frustrations from a City Attorney.  It was a female cop who explained that this man was stalking me.  She urged me to stop talking to him to try to solve the stalking because, she said, he would have me stalked to force us to have more communications. 

Again, he needed attention. 

****

The guy before that (the shortest marriage in the world) always complained that I did too much.  I was a full time college student, a musician and caretaker for my grandfather.  He told me to pare down my activities. 

When I didn't, he Hendrixed my baby because I woke up early one Christmas morning to practice. 

I still have the pieces and parts as well as a newer copy of the same bass.  It is NOT the same.  My old one had oil pastels and paint all over it.  It had my daddy's energy on it.  The newer one lacks the same feel. 

It's hard to realize that he was right.  This is why you don't push a 19 year old girl to get hitched during an ambush at your parents' house.  I knew him two years before that day - one would think the subject would have come up at some point.  In looking back, he always trying to give me jewelry (particularly expensive rings) and my nickname was "partner" (I thought it was because he was cowboy/rancher - but maybe not).  I should have known. 

Ugh....  

****

Now, we get to the star of my nightmares.  He never complained that I did too much.  Not once..... In fact, he rarely complained about anything at all....ever.  He'd be frank if stuff bothered him.  He got me help when I was being delusional (wanting to be with my recently departed parents and grandparents). 

I don't have a memory of him complaining about anything.  He'd get sarcastic but he never whined or bitched about anything at all.   

I wonder though, the breaking up with me verbally while handing me a note saying he still wanted to be friends may have been a sign to talk.  Friendship was the best part of that relationship because we were too young to do much else.  I wanted friendship in 2008 but I think there were too many feels for that.

Dumb Siegfred didn't read the note for twenty years and assumed that the phrase "I'm leaving you" meant "Hasta la vista", "Auf Wiedersehen", "Yasou", "Vale", and "Buh bye, It's been real fun. Don't let the door hit your fat fanny on the way out."   

I thought it was final.  Especially since this little red-headed boy told me some juicy gossip about my old friend and another girl (but this guy wasn't the most honest person - the same game played itself out at a reunion three decades later with something he said about a friend of mine....sigh). 

That could explain his confusion. He possibly assumed I'd want to know why and read the note like a normal human being.  Then I'd talk to him and address the deficiencies in the relationship like a caring person.  Of course, I didn't and wondered why he always seemed to be two steps behind me or look at me with tears in his eyes as if I was supposed to say something. 

Hint to anyone reading this thing: If someone you care about hands you a letter - read it!  Don't let a future spouse read it to you two decades later while hoping you'd run off with a stranger so he could get an easy and cheap divorce. 

Thinking on it further, I finally realized not giving proper attention to a friend could have explained the irritation on Facebook back in 2011.  Perhaps publicly declaring that he was so bored as to put together a list as to how happy he was that women he used to date were out of his life and comparing me to Ayn Rand was supposed to be a conversation starter.  

Instead of writing something like "I'll give you the chance to enjoy your life without my presence" perhaps I should have corrected him and started writing about Nathanial Branden and how he left Rand when she acted like a hypocrite (a Welfare Queen deriding welfare).  Branden was a famous psychotherapist and author who is, pretty much, the father of the self-esteem movement. 

Or I could have  sent my old friend a private message suggesting that if a hot chick is interested in finding something fun to do with him and he's interested - other women don't exist. 

To be honest, I don't remember what I wrote.  I realized that something must've been playing out for the second time.  I was running for office, fighting a tax hike, dealing with a lawsuit, going to school and trying to figure out where the life savings went. 

I really wasn't giving anyone very much attention. 

****

To be sure, it seems like revisiting the old relationships feels like hopping on the same carousel over and over.  After a while, we get tired of the ride.  I had an astrologer joke that Scorpios always come back.  When they have returned, it's been the same song and the same ride. 

It took the last guy two years to stop calling me demanding my attention.  He got his girlfriend in the act so I blocked him everywhere when she called me and told me that he put her up to it. 

My ex-husband still wants me to give him money, cars and to clean up after him. 

The last time I saw the Cowboy he wanted that 'thing in Idaho.'  I should've tormented him with a lollypop (but I'm nice so I just threatened to kick him if he didn't get in his car and drive off). His daughter told me that he's got a wife and a mistress.  If they don't want to service him, he can cover it up with a sock.  He has been to the house in the past five years, when he's here I hide so I haven't looked at him since 2004.  It's gross. Yeah - I need to move.  

I think that right before meeting this guy, I decided to become too busy for love.  I must've made this decision after that first relationship ended.  It seems like these other guys had to drag me into relationships kicking and screaming.  They went to crazy lengths to win me over.  I wasn't ready.  In fact, I really haven't had more than two months between relationships until now.  Now, I've had seven years.  It feels great! 

Still, even with that first one, we fell into the old patterns when we met in the decades that followed.  He worries about my diet and I worry about him preventing prostrate cancer. 

Yeah - I'm not cool.  

Now, if we could find a way to play and act like kids again - that would be fun.  He was the last person I ever played on a playground with.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  Part of that park was turned into a road but some of that old equipment is still there.  I visit it from time to time. 

Seeing old boyfriends/husbands after years apart, feels like the Wild Chimpmunk (that's a horrible roller coaster at Lakeside that seems chill and easy but, in the end, it just gives people whiplash).  

Reliving all that stuff feels like a bad ride. I'd say I wanted to get off but then people born that time of year would be all so happy to help me with that. 

If only I could figure out how to change the tune outside of changing my name and hiding, maybe things could be different and I could be friends with some of these guys.  

I haven't figured out how to do that. I so tire of hearing Entry of the Gladiators in my head (but then, I'm related to a Ringling so it'll probably be in there for the rest of my life...yeah...the truth hurts) 

It's best not to think about it.  I don't want for people to re-live that shit show of mine and I certainly don't want to endure it over and over again like a bad dream.  

There is a thread there that binds my assholery across all four relationships. 

I AM too damn busy to give anyone adequate time and attention.  I AM a neglectful relationship partner.  I think it started with that first heartbreak. 

 I need to pare down my activities before I even bother to date again. 

My life lacks balance. 

I need to find that balance before I fall and take someone else with me. 

Gosh - this sounds like something my neighbors have warned me about for well over a decade.  They say that I'm too busy to live.  They're too busy trying to find me suitors (while I'm too busy to stick around and meet these men they present to me). 

I'm not only prude.  

I'm rude. 

It IS time to find balance. 

IF this IS the lesson - the dreams WILL stop. 

They've got to stop.  

Love ya, 

S.  

Next Day Edit :

There were two lessons - I only wrote about one. 

My high school sweetheart, bless his soul, tried to solve all my problems.  Guys do that. 

After that relationship, I decided that I could fix my shit on my own.  I started to hold back key information about the bs in my life from people who could obviously figure out what was wrong. 

Back then, I thought about it as preventing men from sweeping my floor and cleaning up after me.  

Only now I realize that it hid my vulnerability and eroded trust.  People aren't stupid.  They can figure out quite quickly if something is wrong. 

I'm realizing now that the trick is to stay away from drama as to minimize the odds that anything will go wrong. 

The lesson is to keep your life clean and don't be afraid of vulnerability. 

Hope someone learns from my mistakes. 

Hugs, 

S. 

Edit three days later:   

The dreams are still there.  Ugh....

No one dies. 

Someone just watches me. 

Maybe five hours of sleep is far too much or someone just needs perpetual prayers. 

I'm still praying for the one who watches.