confession: i had a sex dream last night featuring a friend of mine (a local musician, but since there are dozens of local musicians among my friends, saying this does little to narrow the anonymous possibilities). i almost never have sex dreams. i’m a lucid dreamer who uses dreamtime to problem-solve and sex is neither a problem or solution in my dreaming or waking worlds. i’m not sexually attracted to the person i dreamed about, but i’m heartfully and soulfully attracted to that one…and the only sex i desire is the soulgasmic kind. general dream interpretation suggests that sex represents desire. i woke up feeling more energized about my desires. (i wish you energizing sex dreams to focus the qualities of your desires, too.)
confession: if i meet the apartment management’s absurd guidelines about moving all my stuff into the bathrooms and kitchen, the carpet dudes install new carpet on friday. there are only three things i dislike about where i live and the gnarly carpet is the most unlikable. i’m cautiously grateful that the carpet will be replaced on friday. the gift of gnarly carpet has been triggering old shame about being too poor to live someplace nice. i’m not poor and this place is nice enough, but the carpet snaked out all kinds of childhood shame that contributed to never inviting friends home to play. only two friends have ever been inside this home with gnarly carpet. i might throw a new carpet party next week. (just kidding…i’m waaaaaaaaayyyy too introverted to throw a party, but i’ll begin inviting people over one at at time.)
confession: there’s someone i want to talk to…and i’ve tried…but he doesn’t talk much…and neither do i…and i forget all the things i want to say to him when we’re in the same room…and that’s okay…because i can tell him some other time, in some other life when neither of us is quite as shy.
confession: last sunday i had an epic platonic date with a friend and his son. this sunday i have an epic lady date (“lady date” is straight girl code for platonic date, according to my hetero lady dating friend) with my favorite poetess. on monday night i had a platonic threesome concert date with my favorite married couple. saturday night i have a platonic drinking date before an all-girl group dinner date. my platonic date rates are skyrocketing. (thanks y’all.)
confession: my not-so-platonic date rates are also climbing, but i keep those private…unless you break my heart, and then i blog about it. (i wish i were kidding, but i’m not.) the current state of my heart is strong with passionate desire to love openly, slowly, easily, and gently. my heart isn’t likely to get broken anytime soon. my heart is likely to grow more beautifully wide and thick and luscious.
confession: last friday was my oldest son’s birthday. (i’m not supposed to call him that anymore, i’m supposed to think of him as my ex-wife’s oldest son.) i texted my wife (who is not my wife anymore, but when i reach out to her, i’m reaching out to my wife, not my ex-wife, because i don’t communicate with my ex-wife) to acknowledge the birthday. she immediately texted back to say she’d tell him for me. i’m sure she didn’t. i’m sure he doesn’t remember me. i’m sure saying that she would tell him is just something polite she said reflexively. and it hurt because everything hurt that day. everything hurt for days in advance because i knew his birthday was coming and i wouldn’t be there, that he is getting older and i’m missing it. i did everything i could to feel better on friday, alternating self-care and self-destruction. nothing helped until the next day. the next day i felt better because his birthday was over and i’m going to be okay because i’m already okay. i already survived the worst years and this year is a good year. but dammit if some days, some anniversaries, some birthdays don’t kick me in the heart and choke-hold my throat all day long.
confession: a few nights ago i was getting drunk and high with a friend. we burned shit. with gasoline. that “whoosh” sound when the shit you’re burning engulfs in flames—that sound turns me the fuck ON.