duck and cover

Last night, I changed the sheets on my bed to my favorite linen set. I always sleep better on freshly-laundered sheets, and this night was no different - at first that is. Eventually things got weird.

Eventually I had a long and convoluted dream about Obscure Object of Desire*, and going to his house, and our getting caught by his wife. I have no idea why I dreamed about him, as I haven't spoken to or seen him in a long time. 

In this dream, I'd driven my real-life car to OOD's house on his invitation. It didn't look like his real-life home; instead, it was a larger, sprawling home. We had just had quite a satisfying tryst in his marital bed - something I would have never done in real life. I was thinking that I should get a move on as the wife was expected home soon, but OOD insists I relax, no reason to rush. But he's wrong.

I'm just putting on the last of my clothing when she arrives. She walks in and sees us both. She's not happy. When not haranguing both of us, she's packing up her stuff to leave. She even packs up a couple of large pieces of furniture, but ends up dumping them outdoors. 

I'm about to get into my car and leave when OOD walks toward me. I see he's carrying a large, shiny handgun and he offers it to me. I'm clueless as to why he's doing this, until he points to his wife standing about 10 yards away. She also has a large and shiny handgun - it looks as if it's entirely chrome - and she's aiming it directly at me. She fires and I can actually feel the bullet go past my head. 

I realize that the venue has suddenly changed in an odd way. I'm not parked outside OOD's house any more. Instead I'm parked outside a garage in a crowded lot. A Hummer backs out and nearly runs over my own car. I decide I need to leave sharpish. 

I get a few blocks away and stop in a neighborhood with some small stores. I don't remember why I got out of the car, but then I see OOD's wife at a distance. She's traded the handgun for a rifle, and this time she manages to shoot me twice, both times in the leg. I manage to limp to my car and drive away.

After making my getaway, I decide I need to find an ER pretty quickly, although I can't see any blood. But I keep getting lost and end up on some muddy dirt roads. I can't figure out where I am, even though OOD's house must have not been far away.  I ended up taking a dirt road that runs parallel to a beach. By now it's dark and the road is wet, and I'm beginning to feel faint. But after I drive for several miles, I finally find a small building that turns out to be a rural doctor's office. Even though it's now night time, the doctor is in.

I limp inside and explain what's happened, but I end up having to wait in line a few minutes. Eventually the doctor invites me into his office. He's dressed in scrubs as though he's about to go into surgery, but he takes me to a small room and has me lie down on the table. 

He finds the bullet wounds which strangely aren't bleeding. And here's where it gets even stranger: he uses a vacuum cleaner hose to extract the bullets. It turns out they didn't go in far at all. He puts some plain gauze bandages on my leg and shows me the door. I'm not asked to pay.

As usual, I awoke wondering what Jung would make of all that. One part that reflects badly on OOD is that is he made no attempt to stop my being shot. Instead, he handed me a gun and stepped aside.

(But on second thought, he always knew I was a much better shot than he ever was.)

* See Key to Characters at right. 


Slouching towards La Guardia

For the last couple of months, Ian* has been suggesting that I go up to NY and visit him. I eventually took a few days off work and flew north. 

The visit didn't start badly, although he showed up at the airport in a new BMW X5 that I didn't know anything about. Turns out he had leased it in the expectation of turning in his VW. He's making quite a profit on the VW deal since it was one of the "hacked" diesels, and VW is buying his Passat back for quite a bit more than he paid.

But my timing wasn't very good. Ian had just learned that he hadn't gotten the promotion he'd asked for; instead, a younger person was brought in and was being paid $40k more than Ian. So he was angry and wounded. We talked about it for a couple of hours, which I didn't mind. We Idealist Counselors know our role in life. 

The next day we went to the 9/11 memorial and museum. A couple of the museum exhibits upset me to the point of tears. But Ian didn't notice. 

The next day Ian spent most of his time on the phone with his insurance agent, the BMW dealership, and his daughter. She was having some sort of crisis coaching her teenage lacrosse team. I began to feel as if I were in the way. 

The last day of my visit, we took a ferry from New Jersey's Liberty Park to Ellis Island. Being an amateur genealogist, I liked this quite a bit. The main building had been restored and made into a museum. Afterwards we sat outside and talked while we waited for the ferry back, and this was about the height of our interaction.

On the ferry ride back I tried to take a photo of the both of us, mainly because I don't have one and I wanted one. But he flat-out refused to cooperate. I ended up with a photo that described the state of things pretty well; I was smiling at the camera and appearing foolish while Ian stood behind me, glaring at the Hudson and half-turned away from me.

We never had sex although I did try a couple of gestures that, in the past, had worked pretty well. I confess I nosed around his apartment searching for his Cialis prescription, but the bottle wasn't there. I didn't ask him where it was. 

The next morning he went to work and I took an Uber to La Guardia. 

More later; I'm still feeling a certain sense of ennui about the situation and undecided what to do.

* See The Usual Suspects at right.


I kissed a girl

Although I have yet to mention it here, I've sometimes wondered if I had a faint bisexual gene. I say this because, every once in a great while, I see a woman I find attractive. Usually they are shorter than me with an hourglass-type figure. Not skinny. 

I still remember a petite blonde colleague at Getalife who I would watch as she walked, as she had this wonderful bottom. Not too big, but still there. Rather Marilyn Monroe-ish. She hated her body of course. I thought this was sad.

But back to the present. After several months of occasional correspondence, I recently began lunching with a woman the Cub* had initially met on an adult web site. We quickly found out that we both were members of the same infamous adulterers' web site and we discussed that quite a bit. Most of it consisted of complaining about how most male members of the web site were poor correspondents and a few assumed that any woman on this site was either a slut, desperate, or a desperate slut. 

Our initial plans - a foursome with her and her adulterous boyfriend (both were married to partners with no libido) - fell through when the adulterous boyfriend Martin decided to behave. This was disappointing as I found him attractive during our one meeting several months ago (before my lunches with Alison began), although these complex pursuits almost never make it to fruition and I was prepared for that.  The girlfriend - let's call her Alison - wasn't there that evening so she wasn't heavily discussed.

During this year, both the Cub and I kept in touch with Alison, even after Martin departed. About a month ago, I began meeting her for lunch. And when the Cub snagged a one-night trip to Dallas earlier this week, we decided to get together for some adulting.

Like any other first time experience, there were highs and lows. One thing that particularly fascinated me is how different it is to kiss a girl. Other observations:  there's no major difference in how women feel or taste (although  my anosmia may have contributed), our ladytowns were built just as similarly as I had suspected, and I didn't feel jealous. 

But I felt a definite sense of sadness afterwards.

I think a major part of this is that I hadn't been able to spend any solo time with the Cub before or afterwards. I hadn't seen him since February.  And his departure was necessarily swift as he literally had a business colleague in transit to the hotel as Alison and I left. But then I haven't heard anything at all from him since. 

I suppose I will have to console myself with the fact that I taste better than Alison.

* See The Usual Suspects at right.


fret reduction

Recently I realized I've spent an awful lot of time fretting over the past few months. I haven't been able to further reduce the cat population or save additional money for buying another house. The Cub* has not visited my neck of the woods for a while. I've not been able to lose much weight or lower my cholesterol (although my doc recently informed me that I lost nine pounds since my last visit. WTF?).

I am yet still waiting to hear about a raise at work, although if I had read all HR emails I would have seen they would not be announced until May because they kindly bumped the minimum pay hike from 2% to 3%. 

But my final visit to my therapist (who didn't retire - she was moved to another part of the hospital system) was well worth the hour invested and $20 copay. I decided to quit fretting about a lot of stuff. I mean, why worry about saving money for a house when the market is not a buyer's market? Especially when I have rent-free accommodation? It's a bit like That 70's Show but it's comfortable, especially since I ripped the carpet out of the bathroom. 

Regarding the Cub, I realized I haven't been fretting. I miss him, but I bear no ill will toward him as he has been honest about things. I suppose it sounds ironic to discuss honesty within an adulterous situation, but marriage itself seems to contribute to so much dishonesty.

I haven't yet felt compelled to seek out a replacement which is frankly a relief. Historically, it's been so difficult for me to find a suitable candidate. It's not so much pickiness as lack of interesting men. And if and when I eventually manage to find someone interesting, there's the additional, vital element - mutual chemistry/lust - that may or may not appear. 

So I'm going to concentrate on more yoga, more reading, better sleep hygiene and less pursuit of the erotic. And I am still hoping to take the Amtrak Zephyr across the West - it runs between Chicago and San Francisco - before funding is cut.

* See The Usual Suspects.



Future marriage prospects

Yesterday there was yet another baby shower at the office. While I don't mind them, I sometimes try to add up how many baby gifts I've purchased over the past 20 or 30 years. It will never be my turn to cash in, but considering my age, temperament and inability to stay home with a baby, this is not anything keeping me awake at night.

After gifts were opened and we all played a repulsive "identify the baby food" game, the conversation turned to future plans. A couple of the young unmarrieds decided to interrogate the marrieds about plighting one's troth. What they should keep in mind when choosing a future spouse? I usually keep quiet during these conversations and yesterday was no different, until someone asked me point-blank if I would ever consider getting married again.

My initial answer is always a flat no, and I explain that I can't see the point at my age, and I don't have much to offer a husband as I'm not wealthy and have certain eccentricities. 

Perhaps my subconscious disagreed with all this, as last night I had quite a long dream about getting married. John Savelle* traveled from the UK and unexpectedly showed up in Texas, determined to talk me into it. He was wearing a very nice tweedy suit, and of course we all looked much younger. I was living with my mother in a smallish house that had never existed in real time. And she was much younger too. 

She was happy to learn of his proposal and although I don't remind me ever accepting it, we eventually went out to find a place to live. I was intrigued that John had flown to Texas from the UK without contacting me first, and hadn't any problem locating me although we hadn't been in contact for a long time. He just shrugged and said "it's easy when you want to know".

But then I was watching Netflix last night and spotted the perfect husband for me: Gomez Addams.

Think about it. He has a libido that never naps. Nothing ever upsets him, even when his children throw their new sibling off the roof.  He likes to blow up things. He's not big on housekeeping either.

The more I think about this, the more sense it makes. Even if I were just dating him, I could take up fencing again and get free lessons. 

* See The Usual Suspects.