Friday, July 7, 2017

Tender Mercies

I understand and accept that we are not normally in control of our dreams, but I really wish one day to learn how to do so.  Besides the obvious (wet dreams, something I still have never achieved even at this age), I could avoid the dreams I had recently.

One involved Voldemort, the guy who first tore my heart out, emotionally abused me every chance he got, and basically turned me from what I was told a "fun guy who could be obnoxiously hilarious but maybe is not for all tastes, and has a good heart" to "constantly sad, depressed, drunk."  I started having dreams about V again recently, as a job opening I was perfect for was near the major city near him.

That sounds like the corny, never-use line for a cover letter.  "I was born for this job!!!"  But I was, in this case.  Everything they asked for, I had in spades.  A great city, one that I love, and would love to live in, with one of the most awesome comic book stores in the world, and one that practically every musical act I'd actually pay to see stops by for every tour.

I didn't even bother applying.  They hired some guy out of Salt Lake, who sucks... not in comparison to me, just plain sucks.  There was a molecularly sufficient chance that I would run into He Who Must Not Be Named, even though I never go to bars anymore, or socialize much.  Even the smallest chance, so I didn't go for the perfect gig.

Soon after the job opening posted, the dreams/nightmares began, of him creeping into my life again.  The one this week, I had some control over.  He talked to me, talked about old times, remarked how much he'd missed me, much like the last time we tried to be friends again.  This time, I ignored him, and did not reply.  It did not frustrate his dream spectre, like I hoped it would, but the point is, I ignored him with contempt and never spoke to him. Probably the most satisfying nightmare I've had, honestly.

The dream last night, however, was not as satisfying. 

I've been in a constant depression for weeks because of the jobless funk I am in, and knowing that the industry had turned its back on the position and hired cheap-ass Mexican labor (literally) in the stead.  Which, makes little sense to me.  These companies don't do any writing, like, at all.  How do you do good creative if the person writing it for you isn't creative.  I mean I can't even.  Seriously.

"Hi, let's build a house, now I know you're supposed to start with a solid foundation, but I thought this polystyrene sheet might suffice, go to it."

The quality is about as good as it would be if I were programming a station.  Mostly Alice Cooper, some Meatloaf, Queen, and the Aquabats.  Oh and Nickleback at the top of every hour, because people will say we suck anyways.

It was not about Voldemort.  It was about the one I really loved.

I don't know where we were, or why we were where we were.  Or what we were doing before or after.  Neither of us apologized for anything we'd done.  And yes, although it was mostly my fault, we both did things wrong.  He never attempted to get a job.  He stayed up all night while I went to bed alone.  He'd get snippy at me for small things.  He left me for a week after my stroke to go to a wedding.  He had sex with my nurse, in our bed, while I was still in the hospital.  His family and friends never accepted me, or even gave me much of a chance, probably because of my inability to pretend I was a good Christian.  And, unsurprisingly, I drank.

So in this dream we were friends, but he was just there to tell me one thing:  how happy he was now.  In life.  Everything that could go right for him was going right for him.  He even had a Powerpoint presentation, complete with snappy animated graphics and a cool soundtrack.  He was completely happy and never thinks of me at all.  Left unsaid:  I was a mistake.

I should add that I didn't feel he was doing this with malice in mind.  He was just stating facts.

And he was right.

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