Nice Dreams Are Actually Nightmares

I will miss him. Miss taking care of him. Having someone of my own. Miss someone always being around.

But I’m going to love doing things I want to do, when I want to do them. Like checking out my waitress without feeling guilty.

I’m watching this girl working behind the bar. I know that feeling she’s having. I’ve had it before. It isn’t busy at all, but you get this flow. And you’re putting drinks out and punching in orders, bam bam bam! And it doesn’t happen often, but when you’ve got another person working back there you both figure each other out in a snap. It’s like ballroom dancing. The two of you whirling around each other, aware of the other even when your backs are turned.

I had a dream about this guy. This guy that I have known for a very long time. The kind of guy that irritates the shit out of you. The “bad boy.” The kind of guy you want so badly until you have him, and then you can’t stand him. And then you can’t stop thinking about him. And he follows you through every relationship you try to have for the rest of your life. Lingering in your peripherals like a ghost.

And now this is my life. Relentless hiccups and tumbles I myself cause. Once in a blue moon, I’ll begin to rise from the ashes; but a subtle wind comes through, whispering in my ear as it passes, beckoning me. And I follow it, in a dusty gray cloud, tossing and turning. Predictably enough, a lull soon comes, and with it my demise. If you’re surprised by all this, you must not know me at all. Because anyone who knows me can tell you that I am a thrill-seeking, self-centered, used and abused, stereotypical woman girl.

This is my chance to grow up. Once and for all.

“Don’t say things. What you are stands over you the while, and thunders so that I cannot hear what you say to the contrary.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson


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