More Nighmares of HIM

I hate waking up after having such disjointed sleep. 


There were hallucinations of tornado sirens around 11:03 p.m. MST. The only way I could sleep was with the knowledge that the place I live is far too cold to have such storms right now.

There was a dream about a missing child named Alex who was lost by a river I don't recognize.  In the dream, I join the search and find evidence that the eleven year old child ran away. 

These dreams happen a lot to me.  I'll dream of children being buried only to learn, within three days, that they've gone missing.  There is one in particular that is haunting me to this day.

If I  drive by a little patch of open space and feel the spirit of a little girl.  She won't say her name but if I close my eyes, I see the little girl wrapped around a bloody white sheet.

Four years after the visions started, a story came out about a little girl who lived one block away from this field going missing.  Her mother has since died.  Her father has moved away.  No one has dared look for the body. 

We only know she was murdered years ago by her step-father because her step-brothers told social workers when they were questioned.  We don't know when she died, only that her brothers were haunted by her murder. 

The little girl has a name now. It is pronounced Aarron-nay. She's named after her father. 

Maybe I should go back with stuffed animals.  Maybe she'll tell me where she sleeps. 

I don't know.  How would that look if a former candidate for office locates the remains of a murdered child in her city?  

Does it matter how it looks.  I need a shaman to help me learn to comfort this kiddo. 

I hate being psychic. 

It's worse during Mercury retrograde because the information rarely makes sense.

Two more weeks to go and everything will be back to normal.


I'll watch the news today and look for stories about an eleven year old named Alex.  In the dreams, he's near a busy street by a bus stop and hiding in a light blue bathroom.  It is a bus that Tom and I used to ride together, so I can guess the city.  Since there are only two rivers in the areas we visited, that narrows it down quite a bit. 

The searchers have to hurry.  There are a lot of children's spirits haunting the river at Bear Valley.  I hate going there, so many little ones have drowned. 

Sometimes the information works....sometimes it doesn't. 

No wonder my mother drank...it made the visions stop. 

My daughters are psychic.  It's a little freaky. 

When my eldest was two, I was given a medication that made me sick.  I fell in and out of consciousness for hours at a whack.  My last vision before passing out was of my mother.  I woke up hours later with my 2 year old by my side.  She took darn good care of herself.  She ate cold chicken nuggets from the fridge.  She relieved herself on the kid's potty.  She cuddled mommy. 

I awoke to her telling me that her grandma was there telling her what to do. 

My mother died in 1984. 

Then, she had to tell my mother-in-law that she didn't need her because she already had a nice grandma. 

Oooh....that wasn't a good thing. 

Years later, I would take the younger one to a graveyard for the first time.  She ran up to my mother's headstone, took off her jacket, and set it on the top of the tombstone. 

The three year old child looked up at me and said, 'ssshhhh mommy, grandma is sleeping.'

On the bright side, living in a haunted house doesn't creep them out at all. 

I bought a little vial of lavender from a woman who makes her own essential oils.  I like buying from her because the lavender smells like the old scent of the vintage Cover Girl cosmetics I used to wear in High School.  It reminds me of the comfort I had as a teen hanging out with my best friend. 

I used it in a ritual to honor Isis and Osiris, asking to meet my soul mate so that I don't go terrorizing men that aren't meant for me anymroe. 

The next morning, I found the vial of lavender oil had been given a new name. 

I kid you not...

The handwritten L-A-V-E-N-D-E-R had been changed.

           It now reads  A- N-E-W-U-S-E.

Things that used to creep me out, like finding answers to questions written in spent candles, or dreaming of people and having them visit me.  It no longer bother me.  This was just one of those things that I'll never quite understand. 

I think I know why no one visits my house anymore.  It is always chilly and cold.  We never needed an air conditioner.  Our summer electrric bills are very low.

Maybe I need to plan a Halloween party to get people over here...that ought to be good! 

I'm hoping to be out of here by Halloween, though.  I'm not sure the spirits will follow me. 

Love ya,

S.

Edit 3/19/12:

I checked the database....there haven't been any missing kiddos named Alex here since 2000.

And, I think this was what I needed to pay attention to:

http://usnews.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/03/19/10757475-tornadoes-strike-nebraska-flipping-tractor-trailer-and-rail-cars


I blame HAARP.

Damn....I usually get more lead time on those visions. 

I had the auditory hallucination at 11:03 p.m. on Friday.  They hit around 11:00 p.m. on Sunday. 
48 hours? 



Edit 3/21/12

There was a young man that disappeared last week about two miles from my home.  He is hispanic, around thirteen years of age.  His family lives in a home by a river.

I learned about this from the staff at the music store.  They're asking every customer if we've seen the young man.  I'm a little ticked that the local PD and media isn't picking up on the story but I'll see if I can get a copy of the boy's picture.  There is a reason the spirits gave me this dream.  Maybe he's out here somewhere. 

We'll see.  I'll update if anything happens.

Oh...and my friend and his family are all okay!
Love ya,

S.

Chest Pains & Body Signaling

I don't know where to begin. 

I'm happy...that lump I wrote about a couple weeks ago is basically gone.  Now, however, I have a new issue.  Since Saturday I've had very sharp sparking pains originating from the same area.

This is going on behind my left breast near my sternum.

I thought I was dealing with it silently but apparently not.  When the pains start, I guess I take in a sharp intake of breath.  One of the teenagers caught me and told her father.  He literally grabbed me and took  me to the supermarket to check my blood pressure. 

It's extremely high. 

It is usually extraordinarily low. 

I think I've hit my stress limit. 

I think of what is going on and my chest hurts.  I thought it was heartache. 

Now, I think it is just the flu. 

I can't eat. 

I can't sleep. 

I've stopped downing sleeping pills and Valerian infused vodka with red wine.  I'm thinking that too many sedatives may be behind the problem.  I could be replacing mental anguish with physical pain. 

I feel better.  I just pop a sleeping pill now and lay awake for hours while letting my mind wonder. 

I think about HIM. 

HIM refers to the guy who haunts my dreams.   He is my high school sweetheart.  Every year my internal version of his image changes.  This year, my subconscious mind has given him the Wild Child from Borneo look. I see him like he is around thirty-five years old, with brown hair and a unkempt beard with little white hairs sneaking in around his mouth. 

Whatever works, I guess. 

I wish I'd stop. 

I let my thoughts wonder as I pop the pill. 

I was a drug addict when I was with HIM.

I didn't know it at the time but I think he knew.  

Back in the day, I woke up around 6:00 a.m. everyday and pop a couple of diet pills with a diet Pepsi.  I'd do the same at lunchtime and dinner. 

I was really skinny.

Almost every day, he'd take me out and order stuff that looked very pretty good.  He'd persuade me to eat.  I actually got up to a size ten (or eight by today's standards) with him.  That is the same size I am now when I work out two hours a day.  The guy probably saved my life. 

Then, to try to get some sleep, about 11:00 p.m., I'd pop a couple of sleeping pills. 

I'd do this every day.....

One day he followed me to the drugstore at the mall and saw me buy my battery of pills.  He was not happy with me.  As we sat at a bus stop waiting to go home, he looked a little angry.   Pissed, he took the pills out of the bottles, one by one, and flung them at me.  Those stupid pills left tiny bruises on my arm.   

We broke up after that. 

To this day, I cannot go to the health food store that sits on that property now without remembering those little painful marks he left on my skin. 

They outlawed the diet pills in the 90s. 

I know how to synthesize them.  The day I realized that....was the day I knew I had a problem. 

I stopped.  I no longer drink Diet Pepsi either.

A few months ago, another politician who has fibromyalgia shared her therapy for minimizing pain.

Do you want to know what it is?  The exact same sinus medication that I used to synthesize the diet pills. 

I'm wondering...could I have been self-medicating all these years? 

So, I'm back on the protocol.

I've lost a heck of a lot of weight.  My pants started to fall off in public today. 

I've got to buy new clothes. 

I let my mind wonder a little more. 

I think of being stuck in this house.  The stabbing pains behind my left breast come back. 

I guess the pain is a signal that I've got to be making changes in my life. 

I know there is a lesson with Tom and that's why I'm thinking of him so much. 

Aside from the fact that I am afraid that I am continuing to attract second rate versions of him into my life as potential dating partners, I would not know what the lesson could be. 

Yes...I fear that all the guys that came after him were too similar to him to admit. 

Even now...

the guys who ask me to coffee

are ALL software programmers....

tall....

with brown hair....

blue eyes.....

well mannered....

with devious grins....

and ulterior motives. 

I finally realized that asking one out for coffee and a professional opinion are code for wanting to see if you are available to screw. 

I gave up coffee.

When my deceased father's family tracked me down in '99, they gave me photos of my dad. 

I was a little freaked out. 

Tom was the spitting image of my father. 

My mind wanders more....

Yesterday, I had the sex talk with my eldest daughter. 

Sex talks are different for every stage of one's life. 

At three years of age, you let the little girl know that babies come from special hugs.

At seven, you confirm the gross thing that their friends tell them.
At fourteen, you tell them to wait for someone worthy enough to see their sacred treasure.

At sixteen, you make them consider birth control. 

At eighteen, you remind them that boys will say anything not to be safe.

At twenty-one, it's along the lines of 'there is a reason that they call porn stars actresses.'  Most women can't biologically orgasm until their mid-twenties.  Don't sweat it.  Don't fake it. 



With my twenty-two year old daughter, it was different this time.  She's in a hurry to replace her first love.  He left.  She wants someone else. 

I asked her to wait. 

It's not worth it. 

It took me twenty some odd years to realize that I keep bringing the same person back to me in different incarnations. 

Why would anyone want to go through all that hell over and over and over again? 

Why would she? 

It's easier just to do whatever comes naturally and not try to get a man. 



She told me that her love is trying to come back.



Then I grow silent and focus on that thought. 

Perhaps I found the lesson behind the constant thoughts of Tom. 

Life is a journey.  Some times our friends get to see us on the beginning of our journey, some in the middle, some at the end.  Some times we get lucky and have someone with us every step of the way.

Sometimes we part and come back together after twenty years, only for the guy to exclaim that he's incredibly happy that the woman is no longer a part of his life.

Alrighty then...at least it wasn't a bad start to the journey. 

Damn it.... self-reflection is not a comfortable thing. 

Hmmm...that's interesting....the pain is gone. 

Life is good.

Love,

S.

Edit 03/17/12

The eldest took her first love back. 

That isn't what I meant. 

I mean...he needs to find himself.  She needs to get away from him if he's going to run up the credit cards, refuse to pay his share of the bills and throw them into bankruptcy. 

She needs to leave if he's petting other kitties. 

But...she protests....they had a kid together.  She can't let him be homeless. 

Crap...

Where the hell did she learn to do that? 

My ex asked me that question last night. 

I said she learned it from me.  I took Mike back four times over the past decade because I felt guilty that he was sleeping in his car. 

If we want to fix this, we've got to file for divorce. 

I remember the old saying...

If you ever want something badly, let it go. If it comes back to you, then it's yours forever. If it doesn't, then it was never yours to begin with.

I may truly need to consider letting him go on his journey and come back when he grows up, otherwise she's going to end up hating the man after she suffers a thousand cuts at his inept, childish hands. 

Oh crap...

how many times do old flames have to come back before you think they can be your friend? 

Is five times enough? 

How much of this is projection? 

Oh crap...

I've been a bitch over the past twenty-five years. 

Now, I'm just a confused bitch. 

He came back five times.....

Now, I'm pondering why that was. 

Hmmmmm.....

Love ya,

S.



The Four Gs

“I'm not a man. I have no male pride for you to trick me with, and I am not interested in single combat. That is entirely a weakness of your sex, not mine. I am a woman. I will use any weapon and all weapons to get what I want.”     ― Cassandra Clare, City of Fallen Angels

My political platform: God(dess), Guns, Gays, Gynecology

I love my Deity.

I love my guns.

I respect gay people. 

I like doctors, rather than politicians, to play the part of my Gyno. 

I identify most with the Pagan faith; sex is a gift and to not appreciate the gifts of the god(dess) is an act of heresy an invites bad luck.

I grew up as a Mormon.  They believe in birth control.  They believe, too, that sex is a gift of the Creator.  They also teach that a woman should not stay in a relationship with any man who tries to destroy her relationship with the creator or force her to stray from serving said Deity.

My grandmother and her mother before her were Pentecostal ministers.  Our souls have no gender.  God has no pre-conceived notion of our roles.  There is no need for staying in the kitchen.  There is a reason God gave us the ability to think.  We are not Chattel.

It is against my religious upbringing to practice Catholicism.

I believe in birth control.  I believe in free will.  Jesus supports free will (at least in those religions that believe in a war in heaven).  Satan wanted everyone controlled.  God and Jesus wanted free will.

Do any of those Christian politicians remember that? 

Probably not....

they never seem to read the Bible.

Note to the Republicans I know and their buddies across this great county. 

Don't make me vote for a Democrat for the first time in my life. 

And don't.

and I repeat don't...

Make us conjure Lilith and ask for her help.  Prophesy has said that the dark goddess would return at the end of days....

do the Republicans bring her here with their attempts to make us serve Adam in the garden of Eden?

Apples of gold for all.   

Women will gain knowledge.  Women will gain further equality.  The stupid men will pay.

I'll wear my snake bracelet in protest.  It's huge.  You can't miss it.  It'll start many a conversations of don't vote for Republican jack a$$ [insert name of Republicrat running in area] who

• wants your grandmother raped and unable to get justice,
• your mother probed with a wand for no reason,
• your sister forced to turn to prostitution (either illegal or through a bad marriage) because she has no right to a living wage and they want to push marriage,
• and all men to pay child support to every single one night stand because there won't be a rubber or pill in sight.  

Perhaps it's time to get people talking. 

I know that few Republicans are like the one described above.  Here's the problem buddies...you are silent with the crazies in your midst.  By staying silent, you are giving them covert approval.  You are giving them approval to run around alienating moderate and conservative women who understand that tubal pregnancies can kill, so that doctor who opposes abortion should still have to help a woman with that type of distress.  Oh...and passing laws to force women carrying dead fetuses and die of sepsis.  What the hell are you thinking? 

Their nuttiness, and your support of them, is tarnishing your conservative image. 

Before you brand me as a liberal nutcase based on my religious upbringing...get a clue.

I'm conservative. 

Most pagans are pro-life (again, it comes down to pissing off our deities by dismissing the gifts they bring).

Some Pagans are prude, especially if she was taught not to sleep around because the Creator will fuse the cells of your sex partner(s) with your own (e.g. if one doesn't  know a guy well...she won't know that he has crazy schizo brain cells that God will fuse with her highly organized creative intellectual capacities).


Most pagans are libertarian (preferring to worship the Creator as opposed to our government).

Most pagans believe in charity (as in what we give comes back to us 3 fold...for good or ill).

Don't scoff.

How do you know that the Creator we worship isn't the same as yours? 

Don't push your luck with your Creator by dishonoring half of his creation. 

Love,

Prude S. 

“Once, my mother told a whole host of angels that she’d rather die than go back to a man she didn’t love.”     ― Brenna Yovanoff, The Space Between

For Mi Voyeur

I noticed that you couldn't stop grinning yesterday. 

Let me make you take some time for yourself.

Maybe you...

can go...

adopt a pet. 

Like cats? 

Love,

S.

P.S.  Oh....the answer is NO!

<3

Losing my Marbles

Help me...

This is bbaadd. 

Really horrid. 

I'm in trouble now. 

Last weekend, I took the guy in the basement to the dirty shop. 

Don't ask why I chose to marry him...I won't tell.  Let's just say that the Christian boys weren't near as much fun. 

Now, I learned early on that one needs a male escort in the seediest of shops.  I went to one in the scary side of town only to discover from the clerk that the reason the guys were following me around was that I was the first woman in there in over a decade. 

That couldn't have been true.  I went there five years previously and saw my baby sister behind the glass.  I wasn't too happy about that.  She was fourteen at the time. 

The seedy shop didn't have what I needed. 

He knew where to go.  They actually have fluffy bunny pervert shops now. 

And, you know, I could find half my wardrobe there.  I never buy any of my clothes in those shops but after realizing that I own almost half of the boots and shoes they sell there, I realized something.

I dress like a stripper. 

How did I find myself with him in a dirty shop with some boring name that should be the name of a birthday card/gift shop?

Well...It started with a rant about the real reason women hate the new airport naked body scanners.  These are reasons that women on facebook, with their high school sweetheart, ex-hubby, estranged hubby, auntie, daughters, political advisors, former psychotherapy professors, and reporters watching them cannot share.  

Okay, I don't fear them.  I really don't want those idiots that I've rejected to re-pique their curiousity.

There are secrets that we women need to keep. 

Those stupid body scanners reveal a tad bit too much. 

Some of us aren't afraid of our guns tripping the sensors. 
In the old days, you could wear stainless steel and no one knew.  Now?  You'll set off alarms at the school, the library, the grocery store and the airport. 

And, then, how does one explain the chime sounds?  I used to wear belly dancer anklets as a quick cover.

I try to avoid such things but, last weekend, I realized that I needed exercise equipment because after nearly four years, I'm terrified I'm going to atrophy. 

Of course, they didn't have what I wanted. 

They were too big.  Or too unsanitary.  Or impossible to clean. 

I did find a hot little straight-jacket though. 

I always wanted one of those. 

Thank goodness for the internet.

Well....they're here. 

He's curious about them. 

So...I let him see them. 

They got stuck. 

He offered to remove them.   

That was a mistake. 

We're still married...so...maybe...this could save us the $3,000 legal tab.

Maybe....

Maybe....

Oh...he was really happy. 

He was really hot under the collar. 

I told him he reminded me of a children's touchy feely book....

hot,

smooth,

bumpy,


scruffy,


soft,

hard...

He laughed. 

Now, when he babysits the grand baby he'll be grinning like a banshee. 

I made a mistake. 

He's gained more weight. 

I am so damn disappointed. 

I always prided myself on my ability to be creative. 

I can't fathom how to do that. 

Don't ask me what. 

Just know....I can't figure out how to do that. 

I tried an electronic gizmo made for a man, one I picked up during our field trip.  That just made him numb. 

Those things are obnoxious.  If we were meant to rely on batteries, we'd be robots. 

It's not worth the nerve damage. 

I'm upset with myself. 

I can't do it. 

I just don't know....

He's promised to go on a crash diet. 

Damn.....

He needs to find someone that he loves to share with his ding dong more than Ding Dongs. 

Maybe I wore him out the first sixteen years of our relationship.  An extra 350+ pounds hanging off one's frame is a good way to put distance between a man and a sex addict. 

That's what my high school sweetie called me...a slut and a sex addict.  He doesn't understand, I'm an introvert...it takes us a long time to get to know someone enough to have them see our tan lines.  How long does he think I was checking him out before I even spoke to him? 

It was well over a year. 

The next guy had to threaten me after six months of dating.  I wouldn't let him see my stuff, he was pissed.  I learned that diamond rings mean that he wants to see things.  Oooh...

My first husband wanted to marry his mistress because she wanted less sex.  We were together for over four years but were married for only eighteen months.  After the divorce, he wanted to make me his mistress.  Oh, lordy....I lied to that man.  I dated bikers.  I was a lesbian.  I told him lots of stuff to keep his junk away from me.  He quit coming 'round in '04 when I told his wife. 

Ha!! 

This guy.  I've known him forever.  Don't ask him how many years it took for me to tickle him, let alone get playful. 

I'm hardly a slut. 

Sex addict? 

Well, if I'm one.  I suck at it. 
I can't figure out how to do the most basic thing on the planet. 

I feel like a failure. 

It's my fault somehow. 

If I were prettier, thinner, younger looking, and tighter than a Chinese finger trap maybe he'd eat more salad. 

Maybe if I ate more protein shakes. 

Actually, I stopped doing that when I couldn't access the spigot anymore. 

When the fun stopped, I ran around joking that I was a vegan. 

No one gets that joke. 

Okay, truth is, I'd rather have salad.  It's a little something I picked up from being married to a rancher for eighteen months.  I'd name the animals.  He'd slaughter them and tell me who we were eating.  He'd play coy about it and claim he did it to make me happy because he knew I took a liking to the animal carved up in the freezer. 

That's probably why he never let me have a taste.  He was probably afraid I'd want it carved up and put in the freezer.  He sure missed out. 
Yeah....

So...


I tell everyone I love ToFU. 

And many men offer to take me to lunch to buy me tofu.  If they only knew....

Damn....

So...

After the incident I hugged him for a couple of hours. 

He's still my friend. 
I probably ought to stay until he loses the weight.  It'll probably take a year or two or three. 

On the bright side, I think I overcame my sex addiction. 

Yea Me!!

Not really...now I need a new exercise regimen.  I'm now down to a size ten but I've got a closet full of size eight clothes that I really miss wearing. 

I was so skinny!! 

I miss having a workout buddy. 

Love ya,

S.

P.S.  Sadly, I figured out that I have the perfect anti-TSA naked body scanner argument for my Republicrat buddies who want women to stay in abusive dead marriages while sharing their junk with the world at an airport... 

Look...

You think we are sex objects.

We need to use metal to be sanitary, worthwhile sex objects that men won't leave for younger models.  When mean do that, they end up leaving us older, loose, saggy things on welfare.  You don't like having women on welfare. 

Let us take responsibility for keeping the men happy.  Since you think we should not be in the workplace but barefoot and pregnant...let us at least have a shot at getting him close enough to the shooting range to help your freakin' pro-life cause. 

Let us wear our chimey things at airports without airing the fact that we use them to any stupid security guard with an IQ of 80. 

The older I get, the more of those things I've got to do, ya know. 

Hmmmmm.....

Do you think that will fly?

Nope..

And, do you know what? 

Neither will I.

If a Song Could Describe My Current LIfe....

Wow...I'm not in an uncommon situation after all. It appears that someone actually wrote a song about a similiar situation.  It captures my confusion quite well.

The singer actually even looks like me.

You'd be surprised how many guys ask me out because I remind them of Tori Amos...

that would be before they hear me sing.

I sound like a dying goat when I sing.

I'm worse on the piano. I can't manage to wrap my head around playing the bass clef with my left hand and the treble with my right...

and doing it at the exact same time.

Nope..not me.

I'll stick to my woodwinds and my four string babies.

There is no one like Tori Amos. I'm glad Clymene brought her into the limelight becauseshe says those things that my subconscious mind refuses to allow me to see. 

Including the realization that arises from hearing her background singers.  Perhaps they are right.  Perhaps it is time to honor Inanna. 


Love ya,

S.

Nightmares of HIM

Just when I think I'm done....

I have another nightmare of my old flame getting hurt. 

I don't know if I want to go into it on a blog....at least, not until I examine it. 

In grad school, I studied Jungian psychology and the symbolism of dreams.  This one, though, this one confuses the holy heck out of me. 

I should mention that I've been known for having pre-cognitive dreams for most of my life.  As a child, I knew what would happen because I dreamt it.  I knew my mother would die when I was fourteen because of dreams I started having when I was five years old.  I clutched onto my mother a lot while she was alive and hated being apart from her. 

There is a pattern.  If I dream of something in my twight state (right as I fall asleep or as I wake up), it tends to come true.  If it is a dream that I recall after waking up, then it tends to be more symbolic in nature.  It took me many years to figure that one out. 

The problem now, of course, is that my sleep is very broken and minimal.  I don't know if what I am seeing is pre-cognitive or symbolic.  How does one tell when she's sleeping in forty minute intervals?

Weird...eh?
The dream I had just before waking up this morning has been playing in my head, over and over and over and over today. 

On a symbolic level, I think I feel guilty for not being there for him when he was younger.  I fear I may be repeating my mistake of the past by not being there for him now. 

I fear he's in pain and alone. 
I honestly believe that my love for him is unrequited and that this is just a spiritual mid-life crisis.  If so, I did the right thing by pushing him away.  If he needs a friend, then I was wrong.  It's hard being a platonic friend to an old flame that one still has deep feelings for. 

I've spent the past three and a half-years wondering just what type of relationship I'm supposed to have with my old friend.  I'm confused.  We both believe in soul mates.  We both are struggling with defining love.  We both feel twinges of emotion that we stuff deep down inside.

This is natural......at least for us.  

This is why I pushed him away. 

I realize that I was wrong. 

I'm kicking myself. 

What the hell is going on? 

Why can't I be having nightmares of someone that I am actually with?

I mean, seriously, it would be incredibly comforting to wake up in the middle of the night to see that what you've dreamt isn't real.  To touch live skin and to hear someone breathing rather than wake up, light a candle, and pray that the other person is incredibly happy and healthy. 

I don't like my mid-life spiritual crisis. 

Why can't his lady love be the one having the nightmares.  For six years, I've prayed that these insane feelings I have for him go to the woman meant for him. 

Yet they remain with me. 

Maybe God gives them to me because I'll pray on his behalf. 

I don't know. 

I'll make sense of it....someday......hopefully. 

Love,

S.