Again? Seriously?

Had my bimonthly or however often it is dream about the ex last night.  Do I have more than one ex?  You bet.  But there are only two ex's who frequent my dreams.  Not ironically they are the ex's I loved.  But the healthier relationship of the two gets a small role, appearing only once or twice annually, while the feature role goes to the unhealthy relationship.  My hypothesis is that my brain is still trying to fix things even now.  It's the cold fusion of love: scientifically approached from every angle, but never quite solved.  My subconscious can't seem to accept unclosed doors.  My conscious doesn't like them too much either.  The day after was again a struggle.  Throughout the day I am reminded of things made all too real by my vivid imaginings.  Talking to someone about it would just make me sound crazy or redundant or crazy redundant.  And so I blog.  Just before drifting to sleep in the confusion I feel as I am about to trust my emotions to a REM cycle. 

Cast Off

As if the nostalgia of the past week or so weren't already catching up with me, today hit me like a freight train.  I have been cleaning out my office, going through books, memorabilia, and papers, some of which haven't been seen since before I was married. I have pretty much lived in apartments ever since graduating from high school.  Sure, occasionally I'd have a short stint at mom and dad's, but for the most part I've been in small spaces.  There was never room to open up boxes that had been in storage and just sort through the mess; until now.

All this old stuff has brought back to my mind so many feelings and relationships from my past.  Sometimes, when I'm feeling nostalgic but not wanting to pretty too far into someone's personal life, I will admit that I resort to facebook stalking them.  After all, that's what we post things for anyway, right?  So I climb on to facebook stalk an old love, and the only comment for months is one congratulating him on his marriage.  What?!

Trying to get the scoop on this so called marriage, I text him... Then I call and get the pick up and hang up (oh yes that happened.) So I email and leave it be.  Try the best friend who also happens to be an ex (hey, don't judge. These things happen.) And it goes straight to a busy signal as if I've been blocked.

Basically... I've been downgraded to the status of "ex" not friend or important part of someone's past... And I can't stand it.

How do I still not know for sure is he's getting marred?

Reminiscent

The feelings of nostalgia that I sometimes feel can be intolerable. For example, tonight I was blessed with the opportunity to sit and chat with a couple old friends of mine from high school. As I realized what a chunk of my life they had missed, I couldn't help but retrace some of my steps, especially the ones that shaped who I am today.

Immediately my mind strays to past relationships. How different have I become because of people who have been in and out of my life? What would my life be like today had I made different choices regarding those people? What would happen if I called them right now?

And my mind needs to go to bed. Some things are best left unsettled.

Walmart at Night

Every memorable late night Walmart run I've made has been to stalk up on sex supplies. Am I one of the only Latter-Day Saint women who will happily admit to having had sex? Aren't all the children a dead giveaway? Anyway, I'd best hurry inside; my husband is waiting. ;)

Past Self

Having given up the bladder battle and gotten out of bed to use the restroom already anyway, I decided to take this opportunity to plunk away at this random, stupid blog. It's entire purpose is to jot down the crazy that occurs in my brain "after midnight." But here's the thing...

I started this blog before I had children. Before I had headaches. Before I got tired... Ever. Really. Before, I just slept because I ran out of things to do. Why was no one else awake to play with me? Well, now I can answer that one for my Past Self. Past Self: everyone else was sleeping so they could get enough rest to handle their grown-up jobs and their not-so-grown-up children without throwing either their coworkers or their dogs out the window.

So they sleep. And now, so do I. And suddenly, the same loopy euphoria that I used to get at 3am hits me at about 10:30... I'm pathetic, I know. Past Self looks down on me...... And.... Forward.... I guess...........

So, anyway, 11:45 is now the equivalent of about 4am. I am officially experiencing a kind of strange, emotional perplexity that is otherwise unattainable during regular business hours.  With said emotional perplexity comes a string of thoughts so interwoven into my subconscious that I really don't know who's talking: me, or Past Self.

I don't even cuss, but Past Self is a real bitch. Sure, she seemed all nice and wholesome and hard-working, but what you and I both didn't know about her is that she was busy weaving a web of loyalty, intoxication, need, and abandonment issues meant to ensnare innocent future prey (aka me.)

Too many thoughts. I can't handle so much stuff. Life at this stage is hectic enough as it is, but to be trapped by feelings as far reaching as these... It's suffocating. One can only facebook stalk so much before having to branch out into the real deal. Drama!

What is going on, right? You are sick of the vague, (and trust me, so am I.) Well... I'm having ex-boyfriend issues. Classic, I know.p My best friend suggests I try therapy. I'm going to take a stab at blogging instead.

I have been happily married now for five and a half years. We have two beautiful children. I am pretty freakin' awesome and still I think I may have married up.  My daytime self is a saint, mostly, aside from the occasional temper tantrums, nervous breakdowns, and the fact that I often talk my foot right into my mouth.  But at night, that Past Self (remember, we previously called her a nasty word?) comes out itching to toy with me.

I dream. We are talking, technicolor, surround sound, screen-written dreams. They're memorable too, especially when familiar characters arise. This week I've dreamt of a certain exbf who shall remain nameless because on the off-chance that he ever reads this, why give him the satisfaction? Anyway, I've dreamt of him twice. And if I could think of another reason to say the word, "dreamt" I would, because it's simply fabulous. Dreamt. There, I said it. Anyway, I've dreamt (sigh) of him twice in the past week, and now I can't help but think about him. What's he doing? Who's he dating? Why is he still single? Mind you, that last bit gives nothing away because all of my ex's are still single.... That's a blog post in and of itself...

I wonder sometimes if we both live until we are 85 and our spouses die if we won't get married just to have someone with whom to kill the time? I worry he'll compare my wrinkly old body to the one I had when I was 20; a wrinkly body which was once appreciated by the man for whom I mothered children and with whom I shared a long life could be cheapened and cut down in minutes by such a blow. I wonder how that girl I knew he was dating the last time we spoke has handled his commitment issues? Is she broken like I was? What if she never gets out? I don't necessarily feel bad for her. Part of me wishes I could have had him. That part is overshadowed by the part that feels grateful for the husband I've got. I wonder why he only looks cute in 30% of his facebook photos... All of which I've seen tonight... I could have sworn he was only ugly 7% of the time in real life...?

In a crazy shell, it's time for the beeyotch in my brizzain to Step. Off. 

Peace.