I’m dreaming of …. an alcoholic

Today is a public holiday. All I’ve done is sleep. And dream. I can’t keep my eyes open.

I dreamt I was travelling with my husband and all our cats and dogs. We were staying in a B&B up in the mountains. We were injecting drugs. I don’t know what type, he introduced me to it. He was astounded when he asked me how I felt and I shrugged and said “it’s okay I guess”. It was supposed to be euphoric, the best feeling in the world. And I told him probably if I had 2 injections I might feel like that. Both our eyelids were drooping. We were watching TV, sitting separately from each other, but at least there was harmony. Then there was a tsunami that hit the coast. We were making contingency plans on how to get back home once the water subsided. Next thing I was being woken by the B&B owner. My husband had left without me. Taken all the animals and just left me and my stuff. Everything I loved was gone and I had no way to get home. Then I woke up, disorientated and sweating.

As for the meaning? Probably escapism, addiction, feeling overwhelmed and my sub-conscience working through abandonment issues. I have a lot of dreams involving my old marriage and his alcoholism.

I’ve just woken again from another bad dream about a fat, drunk man, a dead puppy and a philharmonic orchestra with a conductor that had a long finger nail on his middle finger that he used to direct the musicians. He winked at me.

I gasped myself awake and decided I needed chocolate. Stat! So I dragged on yesterday’s clothes and headed for the shops. The residue of the dream clung to me while Michael Buble woefully serenaded a sad love song via the store speakers. I felt lost and wanted to cry. Then I got to the check-out. The guy ahead of me reeked of alcohol; I watched 4 youngsters barrel out of a car – they looked worse for wear; even the cashier smelled drunk! WTF! Is today national alcohol day? Or am I still dreaming?

Sigh. Oh joy. But I suppose at least now I only dream about him and the marriage. It’s all behind me now. I’ve left, I’ve done the hard work. I’ll take an upsetting dream over an upsetting reality any day. But, if I’m honest, I still miss him, there is still a hole in my heart. I don’t know why, because he was heartless. Does it ever heal? Or do you just develop a hardened protective layer over the open wound? I dunno.

‘Aint life just fucking grand, hey…..  Sure I’ll feel better tomorrow.


Say what you mean, and mean what you say

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