A Running Theme

Apparently, my brain has decided that all future dreams about John are going to have a common theme. I’ve already had this similar dream five or six times, all in row, whenever I dream about my husband. I really can’t remember a John-dream that was more positive, even when we were married! They were nearly all bad in some way. He had a lot of bad dreams concerning me too.

These dreams don’t always start the same way but at some point it changes focus to the all too frequent theme…

I’m living in a house, somewhat similar to the one we lived in Monmouth (a real crap hole) but a little less crappy. The area always looks a little like the Dallas-Monmouth area but not identical. In the dream, John has decided that he doesn’t want to live at home with me anymore. When this part of the dream starts, he’s already gone. He never stops to say goodbye; he’s just gone.

When I figure out that he’s left me, I also figure out that he’s decided to live “off the grid” to figure out his life… to find himself again. This is always very surprising and a little painful to me because in real life, he actually did live on the streets for a period of time when he was young. There is no way he would ever choose to do it again. It was a deeply ingrained fear.

Anyway, once I realize what he’s done, I start driving around everywhere, trying to find the “camp” he’s chosen to make for himself. Sometimes, when I’m driving, I wonder how the bills are going to get paid, where will he get is mail, what he will eat, how will I survive without. I always deeply feel that I MUST find him. I spend a lot of time driving up and down a river (yes, sometimes I’m actually on the river… in a car), searching the banks for his campsite. Sometimes I find “false” camps, sometimes I don’t. I usually have someone with me at the time; frequently it’s my mom… I don’t know why.

I’ve kind of figured out the car-on-water thing. I’ve always had a deep fear of drowning in a car. If you believe this kind of stuff, it makes me wonder if, in a past life, I died this way. A lot of stressful dreams (or nightmares) have a car and water figured in them somehow, just to add a little more suspense, so it’s not a big surprise that it would occur in these dreams.

At some point, he will make a very brief entrance in the dream, usually to tell me, “it’s not you, it’s me” and that he hopes I understand, hopes that he will find himself and be happy again.

I never do.

Deep Thoughts...

I was just sitting here, staring at my computer screen, thinking. Thinking about how people can be tied together and never know it. Thinking how one person can set off a chain reaction of life changing events and never realize it.

I'm having lunch tomorrow with a dear friend I haven't seen in five years. If this friend hadn't entered my life fifteen years ago...

I would never have had my last job.

I would never have met my husband.

I would never have been laid off from that job.

I would never have gone back to school at Chemeketa for computer programming.

I would never have met my mentor.

Three very important people in my life, tied together.

Tomorrow, I think I will tell my friend thank you.

What Happened to Goodbye?

Have you ever noticed that people don't say goodbye anymore? You answer the phone, hold your conversation and then... nothing, just empty silence before that annoying beep-beep sound. It was only a few years ago that I thought that someone who didn't say goodbye at the end of a conversation was just plain rude. Now it's so common it almost sounds weird to hear the words. What is even weirder is that I more often hear goodbye from friends and family than I do from strangers! Granted, my version of goodbye is more like "bah" when I'm declaring the end of a friendly conversation but at least, I'm saying it. I also say, "Hey!" instead of "Hello" when I answer a phone call from someone I know.

It also seems that "Thank You" or "Thanks" is the new goodbye, the ending to a conversation. I work in customer service, answering phones all day... and all day long I hear, "Thank you." Click. From really friendly customers, "Thanks!" said with a smile. Click. Last week, I even heard, "Thanks a million!" Click.

Every so often, I have to try and force a goodbye. The customer is going on and on about how their sweet little Collie dog got side-tracked by a poster advertising our Elvis impersonator and it ran to grandma's instead,  insisting that she buy tickets,  instead of rescuing Timmy from the well and isn't it so funny that it happened on a Monday when the sun was out? I laugh along with her but I'm silently begging, "Please say goodbye." Please let me have those last three minutes of my life back.

Thanks for reading!

That's it.

I'm done.

Finito.

Bah.

Something Worth Sharing

I read a lot of blogs... a LOT of blogs, and they cover a wide swath of the human experience. So, occasionally, I post someone else's post because I either feel it's important or because they have written something far better than I ever could. Here's the first.

Angie, at A Whole Lot of Something, thank you for writing something better than I could.

A Whole Lot of Nothing

Her Highness, The Fatty

All my life, I’ve had a problem with my weight. I was born fat (nine pounds) from fat parents. I was always THE fat kid in school. I was teased, ridiculed, stomped on and spit out. I also developed very early… and the boys enjoyed looking at my… er… over-development, but I was still fat.

When I was in junior high school, there was a gym teacher, Mr. L, who was just plain scary. He openly stared at the girls, had constant greasy-looking hair, fat, balding. You get the picture. God forbid, if he actually brushed against you for whatever reason! That held true for the boys too. I will forever remember the ultimate humiliation of my life. It was “gymnastics month” in gym class and all of us poor suckers had to run and hurdle over one of those pommel horse things. Can you see it now? Me, running (amusing in itself), aiming for the pommel horse where Mr. L. was standing, ready to “help” people over it. I hit the horse, and then hit Mr. L… and both of us ended up on the mats, with me on top. OMG!!! I still hear the laughter now.

Don’t get me started about having to run around the track with my boobs flying everywhere.

But, I digress. Back to the original topic.

I’ve always been fat. I’ve never been one of those fat people who eat tremendous amounts of food at one time. I’m a grazer and I love grazing on sweet stuff. Can’t get enough of it. I think my addiction to chocolate is equal to the average (if there is an average) addict and I was married to an alcoholic so I have a pretty good idea of what I’m talking about. I’m just hanging out, chillin’, then, WHAM! MUST GET CHOCOLATE NOW! Not a pretty sight.

I’ve had periods in my life where I lost a few pounds, here and there. One summer, in my early teens, I lost about 15 pounds. I was staying with my aunt and uncle in CA, and lived almost entirely on cantaloupe (if you know them, you understand), not to mention all of the walking we did around the multitude of theme parks we visited. I’ve blocked out what that did for my IBS, probably for good reason, but I was so happy when I got home.

Didn’t take long for it all to come back.

When I was 23, I found a lump in my right breast. I didn’t really care what the lump itself was (non-cancerous). After all, I already had had brain surgery. What could be worse? All I thought about was that I could finally get my big, pain-in-the-back, guy-eyeballing, boobs cut off. Yes, that’s how I thought of it, getting them CUT off. When the plastic surgeon, who was also a family friend (I used to babysit his kids) warned me that I might feel a “loss” of my breasts and get depressed, I laughed, rather hysterically. When I woke up after surgery (which was much worse than brain surgery), I looked down at my flat chest (flat from being tightly wrapped), I was ecstatic! 9 pounds had been taken off. You heard right. NINE POUNDS of gross, fat boobage!

After I was fully recovered (which was also much worse than brain surgery), and the weird torso-wide scars healed, I realized I could run! And jump! Without knocking myself out! I was running up and down the stairs at work, taking a quick jog across the parking lot. Freedom! The first time I had to have a stranger give me a proper bra fitting was thrilling! I got to throw away all of my triple Z squared times 507 size bras (I did keep one for sentimental laughs) and got to go down to a C cup. Happy day!

In high school, I was a size 26. After surgery, and months later, I got down to almost a size 14. YAY!

Then, I met a guy… who broke my heart… repeatedly. I threw away my scale.

After my husband died, I lost 24 pounds. The “I Lost a Spouse Diet” works wonders. I’m just sayin’.

Last October, almost to the day, my mentor and I decided we were going to lose weight together. His heart took a turn for the worse and it became a true life or death battle for him. We were going to walk, eat right, keep tabs on each other… blah blah blah.

Yeah. That didn’t really happen, at least for me. And the pounds have been creeping back. He’s still on my case about it but I haven’t really cared lately.

That brings me to now. 40 years old (cripes) and fatter than ever.

This morning I got on the scale and YIPEE, the weight is going back down again (probably something to do with having little food in the house)! How did I celebrate today, you ask? I had 2… fine, 3, donuts for breakfast… and 3 Twinkies after lunch.

There’s something wrong with me.