Dreaming and Wishing and Reality Bites

I had some pretty vivid dreams last night. I woke up scratching my head. They weren’t what you’re thinking, though.

I dreamt that Sen. Sherrod Brown brought a posse of people to my house for a photo op. Except it wasn’t my house – it was a trailer. And I never did see Brown in my dream. I came out of the bedroom to a room full of people and zoomed in on someone in a chair. It was Sen. Tammy Duckworth. Of course, I swooned like any proper fangirl would do. I told a funny joke. She laughed, but one her aides got pissed. “That is highly inappropriate. She is a sitting U.S. Senator.” I didn’t feel the least bit ashamed and just told the aide she was a stick in the mud.


I have no idea why I dreamed that. I do know that I’d rather have that sort of dream than the other, more personal type. So, come inside my head anytime, Sen. Duckworth. You are much welcome.

Yesterday I did a favor for my friend, so he paid me with some weed. Now, this is not the first time we’ve worked on that particular barter system. Since Sam is gone my friend is much more generous with his stash1. Anyway, we had this long conversation about people our age not having a sense of humor. We wondered why people lose that when they become more settled and “mature”. How boring it is. I believe we’re just stunted. Forever in our youthful minds and finding hilarity in everything. I mean, really, we have a choice in our present circumstances: be miserable or find the silver linings. Both he and I choose the silver linings. So we laugh easily. Why not? Is it better to be oh-so mature or to find reasons to laugh? I think the latter. The former are boring and snooze worthy. Laugh often and loudly, I say. I’m already halfway to crazy old-lady. I’m committed. Might as well see it through.

So, I guess that’s part of that dream. The stick-in-the-mud is my idea of people who don’t laugh at my silly jokes. The part where the Senators are coming to my trailer2 is a mystery to me. Maybe because I’m paying more attention to politics again? I wish I believed in dream magic. I’d interpret the shit out of that.

We also talked about the room my sister is vacating this weekend. It’s actually the old kitchen of what used to be the upstairs apartment. There’s a small refrigerator up there and a private entrance. It just needs a real door. He wondered how much I’d charge for rent. But I don’t know if I want another roommate. Every time this has happened I’ve been screwed in the end. These mofos take full advantage until I can’t stand it anymore and end up snapping. I mean, it’s not like I hide my frustrations – I’m honest. “I need you to do this…” Whatever “this” is usually ends up ignored and I explode. Or, in the case of my exes, they just run off with some other skank. Easier than treating me with the respect I deserve, I guess.

That’s fully my fault. I pick up strays that have been discarded by, literally, everyone else in their lives. I see something in them that’s worth giving a chance. I empathize with them. Then they do to me what they’ve done to, literally, everyone else in their lives. That whole “look deeper that’s not all there is” is such a line of bullshit. And, as I’ve said previously, I am complicit in my own torment3. If I didn’t think there was treasure in the trash my heart wouldn’t have been shattered, right? Exactly. That treasure is just prettier trash.

At any rate, I think I’m going to stick it out for the summer here4 and then hightail it far, far away. At that point I’ll probably go anonymous again. Is that even possible? I don’t want anyone to know where I’ve gone. THOUGH you can probably guess where I want to go. If your answer is “anywhere but where you are, JJ” then you are correct.

So, I almost started smoking again yesterday. I am sticking it out though. That’s probably why I’ve been so freaking emotional lately. “Oh, look at me, all hormonal and quitting smoking. Watch me cry. No, watch me rage. I kid, watch me laugh like a loon. Oh, you don’t like that? I’ll cry again.” It doesn’t help that there are these constant reminders of how I fucked up taking in strays.

If it gets hard I might take in a roommate. But I’d rather not. My lease is up in October and I’m not staying. I don’t think there’s a point in getting someone in here and then having them have to find somewhere else right away. Though I think my friend was asking because, well, that’s how I roll, right? I take these fuckers in then start to fall in love with them then BANG. Here I am. Let’s not and say we did. My empathetic side needs a break because that little bitch doesn’t know what’s good for her. These people just keep taking and taking and taking and then POOF! Gone.

It’s not my job to save anyone but myself. It’s not my job to see the good in someone when even their families can’t stand them. It’s not my job to pick up the pieces of someone else’s life and set them on the right course. Logically I know this. Emotionally I just want to take them in and feed them and give them a warm blanket. Thank the gods that the emotional side is floundering right now so my logical side is so much stronger. Otherwise I’d have “Oh, sure, guy with a job, you can rent my room. And eventually we’ll have sex then love then you’ll forget to pay your portion of the rent then I’ll get fed up and all hell will eventually break loose.” No, no, no. That is never going to happen again.

I was going to write about my ACR and the folder I found on my drive. There are a year’s worth of phone calls that were automatically uploaded. There is plenty of proof that I’m not a liar and I’m half tempted to put them up. I won’t though. I guess I didn’t even have to write this much about them, but they were kind of triggering. There was one with Lucifer’s voice in one ear and Sam’s in the other. At the time Lucifer and I were fighting on the phone and Sam was driving. He said “You guys are crazier than I am…” I cringed when I heard it. I was a horrible person. Though I can say that never, ever happened while I was with Sam. I never did that to him when we finally became a couple. No matter what anyone says. I was completely his.

I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.

  1. Sam was right about him. I don’t care. []
  2. I don’t even live in a trailer. []
  3. I found old recordings of our calls from last summer. Proof that I am not lying – in his own words. Want to know what’s what, little trolls? I’ll share if you’d like. []
  4. Probably. []
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