springading.com

It’s funny how there’s a lot going on right now, but because of recent events–namely, my nephew’s death–I don’t really feel like talking about the other stuff that’s going on. But I’m a little on the stressed side, to say the least.

Speaking of stress, Jim has quit smoking. Almost as soon as his insurance card came in the mail, he made an appointment with the doctor for Chantix, as he found out that quitting on his own was waaaay difficult. Everyone kept warning him against the side effects, but Jim also knew that everyone he talked to who did it said it worked.

And it seems to be working wonderfully for Jim so far. He loves it. Yes, he’s suffered some of the side effects. But we figured if he’s going to be sick from that, now’s the time to do it–he only has class for about an hour four days a week. He can stay home and take it easy.

The first week on Chantix, you take the pills, but you still smoke. Jim immediately noticed he was smoking less. He just didn’t feel the need for a cigarette as bad.

The second week, you still take the pills, but you can’t smoke anymore. Yesterday was day two for him of no smoking, which is longer than he’s ever gone before.  To say I’m proud of him is an understatement.

Oddly, last night, I had a dream that I caught him cheating and sneaking cigarettes. I started crying and told him I was leaving him if he didn’t quit. I was all overly emotional because of how Josh died, telling Jim that maybe if Josh didn’t do drugs, it wouldn’t have complicated the pneumonia thing, maybe he wouldn’t have died from it after all, and I wasn’t standing by and watching more people I loved doing things that would kill them.

And then I woke up. I was glad. I doubt I would leave Jim over sneaking cigarettes, but I’m relieved to know that he hasn’t.

Last night was just bad for dreams. I also had one where I was so overcome with grief about Joshua dying, that I started to scream and scream. I couldn’t stop.  And I was trying to tell myself to stop, that there was nothing to scream about, it was over with, but I couldn’t. I suddenly lost control of my movements, too, because my arms kept twitching, and I couldn’t stop them either. People rushed over and tried to hold me down, tried to quiet me, and they didn’t have any better luck getting me under control. I woke up, heart beating. It seems like an odd nightmare, but I think it scared me because of the total lack of control in it. Also, it’s very not-me. I don’t even know what I sound like screaming. I’m not a screamer, never have been. 

I mentioned in the last post that there was another dream with Joshua actually in it, the day after his memorial. I guess I’ll write about that now because it was very…hard.  But I don’t want to forget it.

I was drawing a comic book. Not surprising comics would feature in this dream, since Josh and I both used to love manga. Also, we both draw. Well, I used to. Josh had moved on to designing his own tatoos, but another thing we had in common was that both of us spent our time in high school creating our own comic strips–comics that were “off” enough that we made sure my parents never saw them, heh.

Anyway, Josh was standing behind me, looking over my shoulder, approving. He didn’t say anything, though. If you knew Josh, this is weird. The kid talked a lot. I put my stuff down. We got up and went outside. We were in Chicago, the city that Joshua had just moved back to and loved so much. We walked around, looking at shops, trying to find fireworks for the 4th of July, which was the following day, both in the dream and in real life. Except Chicago was more like a maze than composed of city blocks.

We pushed the door to one store and walked in. Except it wasn’t a store. It was my sister Diana’s house. (Diana is Joshua’s mom.) My sister greeted us. She told us that they had created a place for Josh to stay. She pointed down the hall.

At the end of the hallway, we could see the light coming from a window in a door. It was bright, bright enough to make it difficult to see even the door itself. The place that had been prepared for Joshua, Diana said, was a patio. Immediately, I could see it in my mind. It was gorgeous. It was open and breezy and although it didn’t have a roof, it was always sunny. There were trees and plants everywhere. It was so peaceful.

Of course, though, it was for him only. We weren’t allowed in.

The three of us started down the long hallway, toward the brightly-lit door. Right before the doorway, we paused and looked at pictures Diana had put on the wall. At the memorial, Diana had taken one of those family photo frames and filled every single slot with pictures of Joshua. In my dream, it was the same frame, except under each picture, there were small scraps of paper with Joshua’s name on them. Underneath, his birthday and day of death, except someone had scratched them out. I didn’t understand why.

Diana was next to me, Joshua behind me. Joshua never said a word during this whole dream. I reached back to grasp my nephew’s hand and squeezed it. “So are you gonna stay?” I asked.

But I turned around, he was gone, and my hand was empty.

I figured I should post now because 1) I feel like posting, and 2) Jim is still asleep. I have an easier time concentrating if Jim isn’t around while I’m writing.

A couple of things. One, I’ve been having some off-the-wall dreams. Yesterday, I slept until 11:30 (!) and had a dream about killer bubbles. Trust me, it was way more eerie in the dream. Upon waking, though, I was like HA. Funny. Then last night, I had a dream that Jim and I were too broke to go on our honeymoon because I had found out that I owed the government a bunch of money after doing my taxes.

Okay, that dream was brought on by the fact that over the weekend, I was pushing off doing my taxes because I kept thinking, “Well, I shouldn’t owe money” (I’ve never owed money) “but WHAT IF?”

Luckily, I’ve already paid for some of the honeymoon stuff up-front, so HA. No matter what the taxes come up as, it’s already done.  Yup,  the first week of May, we have a room booked at the hotel of our choice and tickets for two awesome-looking shows in Branson. At first, I was ehhh about the idea of going to Branson for our honeymoon, but now I’m stoked. Yeah, I said it. STOKED. We wanted something that wasn’t too far away and not too expensive.  We nixed anything anything that involved going outside of the United States (too expensive), Florida (too expensive, too far, too typical, and we’ve both been there), and any place which would involve driving through areas where we would feel obliged to visit with family members. I love my family, but seriously? No visiting any family on our honeymoon. That’s our rule. The honeymoon is all about US.

Also, I should mention, no Internet, so you all will get a break from me the first week of May. Now, I have brought up the subject of possibly bringing the laptop with for writing, since we both find writing enjoyable on its own, and it’s not like we’ll be tempted because (for some reason unknown to me) our laptop’s wireless capabilities quit working a while ago. Jim’s balking at the idea. He’s really for no computer at all. But I think we need other downtime things to do when we’re not reading, swimming, or having lots of loud, rambunctious, newly-wedded sex.

Hey. You were thinking it. And you know we’re gonna be doing it. Why deny, friends, why deny…

Anyway, like I was saying: Jim and I are getting excited about going to Branson. The hotel we got was our top pick (smoking room, indoor swimming pool), the shows we’re going to see look great, and I’ve already discovered there’s something called the Victorian Village I want to check out while I’m there. And I’ve already decided I’m blowing my diet while we’re there because I am not dieting on my honeymoon. If I have to start over when I come back, then so be it.

Oh, I forgot to mention that–I’m on a diet. Started  last week. Not nearly as bad as I thought I would be, which should clue me in as to how much of my eating was mostly just stress eating and not eating because I was hungry. And Jim’s been good. See, at first, it was hard because Jim would request that I get my (new) favorite chocolate stuff (marshmallow 3 Musketeers), knowing full well that it was my favorite,  and while I can easily avoid most foods, that is hard for me to resist. Anyway, I had to have a little chat with my man. His view: “You’re really not that big. I don’t see why you can’t eat this.” My view: “You are blinded by love. The scales say I AM that big.”

Seriously, for a skinny guy, Jim has a very skewed vision of weight. I have gained forty pounds since I moved to Carbondale in 2003. Forty pounds is a lot of weight, especially considering that I’m barely five feet tall. But Jim just doesn’t seem to see it. He hasn’t noticed that twenty of those pounds came along after he and I started dating, either. In fact, he’s always complimenting me on my body.

(Aside: I sent Jim this picture via text on Friday night while he was at game, and he texted me back that I was the prettiest girl in the world. If I were the type of person who said squee, I would do it then. But I’m not, so I won’t, and don’t you do it either–I want to punch all squeers in the face.)

Back to my point. This skewed vision he has of weight, it’s not just me. He doesn’t really seem to think people are fat until they reach something like the 400 pound mark. Unsurprisingly, Jim isn’t much into thin women, lol.

Anyway, I reminded Jim that 1) I’m well on my way to becoming diabetic–look at my health thus far–and 2) he had an uncle who died because of obesity. I hope I’m not saying too much here by admitting this (I’ll edit this post if Jim does mind), but Jim blames his uncle’s wife for it. His uncle was constantly trying to lose weight, and she’d mess up his diet by giving him cakes. One could say that his uncle always had a choice in the matter, but still? Shitty thing for his wife to do.

Anyway, when I reminded Jim of that story, things changed fast. Jim went out and bought soups for all my meals (that is in part because of my tooth extraction), but he made sure they were all both vegetarian and low-calorie. When we stopped by McDonald’s earlier this week, he didn’t even ask what I wanted to drink; he made sure I had water. And, again, because of my tooth extraction, he asked for them to put it in a coffee cup, since I can’t drink from straws right now.

As a result? I’ve already lost 6 pounds!

Okay. So, there are other things, things more interesting than my diet, which I know is of no interest to anyone but myself…once upon a time, I had mentioned possibly going to Gen Con. Jim hasn’t mentioned it at all, so I’m not sure we’re going. My thought is that we’re not because we’re doing our best to knock out the credit card debt. Our goal is  to have it gone by next year. Once it’s gone, Jim is going to quit his  job  and just go to school full-time. Poor guy–taking 5 classes and working 4 days a week while co-running a game with Karac is wiping him  out.

And on that note…our Werewolf game is postponed indefinitely. It was supposed to run on Saturdays, but both Jim  and Karac keep getting scheduled to work on Saturdays. That, and Jim usually needs to catch up on homework then. It’s really too bad because I think I’m really going to like it, but hell, I like just having Jim to myself on Saturdays, too. (Although, Phil, if you’re reading this, you’re always welcome to come over. Just don’t mind the mess.) But my guess is that we’ll pick it back up during the summer.

That’s okay. I can wait. Because right now, I have this to read:

A Game of Thrones

That’s right, A Game of Thrones. Oh my god, guys, a fantasy writer that knows how to write. I will neither hide nor deny it: I am a writing snob. Before you go thinking that I have no right to be a writing snob, I have to point out that my blog-writing is  vastly different than my fiction-writing. And while there are lots of good fantasy stuff out there, most of those writers are good story-tellers, which is not the same as knowing what to do with the language. There is a difference.

By the way, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with just telling a damn good story.  In fact, I think our society needs it. But I personally love it when I have a writer that knows how to use foreshadowing, alliteration, imagery, all that good stuff that does more than tell a story, it plays with the reader’s imagination…SIGH. Love it.

Anyway, George R. R. Martin knows what he’s doing. I’m impressed.  We just bought the first book a couple weeks ago, and Jim’s has already started on the THIRD book. Have you seen the size of these books? Jim is single-handedly the fastest reader I’ve ever known, surpassing even my mother, who, I have to say, it pretty damned fast when she wants to be.

So, yeah. Read them. I’m really excited for the HBO premier  in April because (gasp!) I think I actually have HBO! (I’m not sure. I don’t really watch much TV, so I’m not sure what all I have, but I’m pretty sure Jim said we have HBO.) On that note, I’m going to leave you with a trailer to get you all excited:

Enjoy!

Things I need to do: Dishes, the vacuuming, the sweeping and mopping, clean the bathroom.

What I’m actually doing: Eating popcorn, fighting Gremlin away from my popcorn, charging my MP3 player, and watching Angel.

I really do need to clean. A couple nights ago, I actually woke up in the middle of the night thinking about how I needed to clean. And then the following night, I dreamt that our place had gotten so bad that we had developed a mouse infestation, and the mice had become so well-known to us that we even knew their names. (Apparently, the mice could talk in my dream.) But it was not a happy cohabitation. I chased them everywhere, like  Tom chases Jerry, and just like the cartoon, they always outsmarted me.

Honestly, the apartment isn’t that bad. But it’s definitely not clean, and my brain is having issues with it.

But I have other things on my mind besides cleaning. Nothing much bad. Most things are great. Work is great. Jim is great. Jim is fabulous, actually. That man! For Valentine’s Day, he bought me measuring spoons and measuring cups and a HUGE wooden cutting board, just like I asked for. Oh, my god, I’ve wanted one like that since I was, like, nineteen. (If you think it’s weird that a nineteen year old girl would want that, keep in mind that I was married at 18 the first time.) He also gave me the best chocolates I’ve eaten to date.

Sigh. That man. He still makes me swoon.

Well, I guess there is some stuff on my mind, but I can’t really go into it. Jim had a bad day at work, and I’m getting pissed about the reason behind it. Or, more accurately, the person behind it. Grrr.

Also had a very interesting e-mail at work that caused a lot of gossip (and I think I got to the bottom of it, heh), but alas, that is also something I don’t think it would be in good taste to talk about here. Kinda “company business,” know what I mean?

So what can I talk about? Hm. Jim mentioned that he thinks our D&D game is perhaps in its final stretch. He claims it’s not because we’ve gone a while without playing, but where we’re at in the game. I can understand where he’s coming from. I also kind of wonder if Jim’s ready for something new. I mean, he already has an idea of another game he wants to run, one that he thinks I would like. Who knows? I sure don’t.

But I do know I need to clean. On that note, I’m outta here.

Okay, guys, if you have queasy stomachs or are just not in the mood for something heart-wrenching, do NOT read any further because seriously?  I woke up an hour ago and am still feeling upset and nauseated by a nightmare I had last night.  And, incidentally, I do not get queasy by gross things easily, so that should say something.  Although, admittedly, some of it was probably coming from being upset.

So, Squeamishy People, scoot.  That’s it.  Go along now…

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Okay, are they gone?  Here was my dream last night:

I was in a city for a job.  I think it was Tokyo, and when you hear the rest of the dream, Tokyo is the logical place for my brain to set this dream in with their “mad skillz” for sushi.  And, incidentally, I was there for a cooking job.  Kind of weird, since I’ve never considered cooking as a career, although, I have to admit, I’m a pretty good cook, good enough that when Jim and I went out a few weeks ago and was eating other people’s homemade stuff, he told me later that he was looking at his food and telling himself, “I’ll bet if Spring made this, it would actually be really good.”

I guess I have my own “skillz,” ha.  Even if I don’t have many of them.

Anyway, in this dream, I apparently decided to become a cook.  I was walking through the streets of the city.  There were women at doorways dressed like bunnies, trying to entice people to go into their restaurants.  One of them was the place of my future employment.  I walked in, tossed my jacket aside, and the head cook brought me in the back.

The head cook didn’t come off as a monster or anything.  I want to state that up front because I think it makes all this even worse.  She had a very soothing demeanor.  We started to cook together, chopping vegetables, chatting as we went along.  She told me about her restaurant’s history.  They were known as the best sushi restaurant in Tokyo, even in the world.  I had heard that before, which is why I wanted to work there.  She said that the reason why is because they would cut everything fresh, while it was still alive.

I guess I must have given her a look because she quickly assured me that the fish don’t feel anything.  “Myself and the other chefs here are so skilled, the animals feel almost nothing during the whole thing.”

Wait, I thought, mind reeling, we just went from “fish” to “animals”?  I wondered why the switch in words.

“Let me show you,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron, much like I’ve seen my own mother do while making dinner when I was a little girl.  The chef left the kitchen, then came back.

With a kitten.

And not just any kitten–my kitten, Gremlin.  He’s actually probably considered a cat now, but in the dream, he was still tiny.  He jumped around in the huge sink, trying to play with the necklace dangling from the chef’s neck.  She patted him reassuringly, then began wetting him down with the sink nozzel, as if all she was going to do was give him a bath.

Then she took out a butcher knife.  Oh, my god, it was awful.  She started slicing away at Gremlin’s tail, cutting it in rings.  Gremlin was oblivious, batting at some thing in the sink in front of him as she went to work.  Every once in a while, she would pause to scratch him behind his ears and coo at him that he was a good boy while he purred.  I tried to move, stop this awful bitch from cutting up my cat, but I realized I couldn’t move.

She kept going:  She started slicing the sides off him.  He was still quiet and happy.  I was still struggling, and at this point, trying to scream.  Something was keeping me paralyzed and mute, though.  The chef didn’t seem to even know I was there anymore.  She tilted Gremlin’s head up and started shaving thin slices off his neck.  And that’s when Gremlin started to feel a it.  His eyes grew big and round.  I heard a little mew come from him. 

And that’s I finally managed to overcome whatever was keeping me mute.  I screamed and screamed and screamed.

And, thankfully, woke up.  Jim’s arm was tight around me.  I almost woke him up to tell him my dream, but then I realized it would really upset him.  I myself was on the verge of tears (I rarely cry) and feeling sick (again, I don’t have a weak stomach), so I don’t even want to know how this dream would affect him.  So instead, I shoved Jim’s arm off, got out of bed, and hurried out of our bedroom.

Gremlin was waiting for me outside, not all cut up into slices, but very much whole and bouncing around my feet, eagerly waiting for me to get up and give him his breakfast.  I picked him up and gave him the BIGGEST HUG EVER.  And you know what?  I think I’m gonna spoil him tonight with some nice canned cat food.

Just not sushi.

This three day weekend is being kicked off by 1) me sleeping late (if 9 AM is considered late, which, for me these days, is very late) and 2) another god-awful dream.

In the dream, I found out that Jim had been married before.  Briefly, mind you, and as a joke, one of those drunken Vegas weddings he doesn’t remember done with a friend of his.  I was furious, not because this happened–hell, in America these days, who doesn’t have a marriage that’s a mistake?–but in our (dream) past, when I had asked Jim if anything had ever happened, anything he needed to tell me, etc., he never mentioned this.  Being married before is something you definitely should mention.  He only finally admitted it to me right before our own wedding was about to happen, when he realized that he technically was still married to this friend of his and needed to get a divorce from her first.

(If you’re curious about the friend, by the way, it was one of those made-up friends dreams create, nobody real.  In my dream, Jim said he had met her on a blind date, but they quickly realized that they were better friends than anything else.  She was actually married herself, but I guess not legally, since she and Jim had never annulled their joke-marriage.)

Anyway, I got pissed, told him to leave me alone for a bit.  I stormed off, trying to figure out how we could fix it, and I realized that we couldn’t.  Oh, we could get the paperwork all figured out, that was fine, but the fact he kept something like that from me in the first place was unacceptable.  I didn’t want to do it, but I not only called off our own wedding, but I broke up with him as well.

Like I said:  God-awful dream.

I had another dream before that one last night in which I was trying to get away for some reason–another one where I was upset about something–and Jim was trying to “reason” with me.  I put that in quotes because, in the dream, I was totally justified in wanting to get away, but I don’t remember why now.  Anyway, Jim was trying to “reason” with me, but he had to go do…something.  I don’t remember what, but I know that it was important.  Some kind of public announcement, maybe?  So he couldn’t chase after me like he wanted to.  A friend of ours was there, so she held me down so I couldn’t go.  I got mad, but he let her, so he could keep “reasoning” with me once he was done.  And it was weird:  Vines sprung forth from her hands, wrapping mine; likewise, vines burst from the ground below me, zig-zagging around my legs.

(Holy shit, she totally cast Entanglement on me!  I just got it now, HAHAHA.)

Anyway, I became furious that they were keeping me restrained and started fighting.  I yelled for them to let me go and started swinging at everyone around me, including Jim.  The thing is I think I actually punched Jim in my sleep because I woke up immediately afterward, still swinging, and my fist was hurting.  Luckily, Jim had drunk a few with Phil last night, so he slept right through it.  Or, who knows, maybe I actually punched a wall and that’s why my hand hurt.  I guess I’ll find out when Jim wakes up, if he complains that any part of him is sore.

Or maybe he won’t be–my hand didn’t hurt for long, either.  Apparently, I’m not much of a “clubber,” heh.

Me:  I had another dream that you cheated on me last night.  Why do I keep having dreams that you’re cheating on me?

Jim:  I’m not cheating on you, Spring.

Me:  I know that.  When would you have time? 

Jim:  Remember how you said you I’d be scared before the wedding?  Well, don’t you think that works both ways?

Me:  You mean that my brain is trying to scare me with the worst possible scenario and force me to prepare for it, just in case it happens?

Jim:  Or putting up roadblocks.

Me:  OR it could be because you’re actually doing something that you know I wouldn’t like, and my subconscious is blowing it out of proportion in order to make me pay attention.  So, Jim…did you do anything you know I wouldn’t like?  Might as well tell me–can’t be as bad as cheating.

Jim:  Well…I did leave my socks on the floor yesterday.  Deliberately.

Me:  …

Jim:  Yeah, I was like “I’m over here and the closet’s over there.  Fuck it!”

Me:  That’s not exactly what I had in mind…

If I used my time wisely, I would be trying to pump out last week’s “Homebrewed” because we’re playing another session this afternoon.  As we all know, I do not use my time wisely.  Time management is not one of my strengths.  Which means I’ll be trying to cram in two “Homebreweds” in a week’s time. 

Unsurprisingly, I also wrote all my papers at the last minute in college, too.  (And I almost always got A’s.  So there.)

Instead, I’m going to go back to this post for a moment.  Remember when I said last week’s game was THE shortest ever because Jim was counting on having another “element” in the game for what Natalia’s about to do next?  Remember how I didn’t want to say what it was until he confirmed it?  Well, he finally confirmed it:  We’re going to be adding another player.  Phil, actually.  No, there won’t be a scheduling conflict between games since Phil’s game usually runs on Saturdays and we’ve moved ours to Friday nights.  We just happen to be running this afternoon (er, today’s Saturday, by the way) because Phil’s game had to be cancelled, since one of its players had to work.

We want to keep it to only one extra player, though.  I am not ready to play with a bunch of other people.  I still have problems with only Jim sometimes, but, honestly, I think Jim wanted to include Phil a long time ago.   Besides being his best friend (aside from me, of course, but I’ll share ), I think Jim feels that Phil would take some stress off him as a DM.  For one, if there’s another player with me, then he won’t have to run so many NPCs to tag along and keep me out of trouble.  Second, it doesn’t have to explain everything to Phil like he does me, since Phil has been doing this for a long time.  Third, Phil isn’t demanding as a player.  Hell, Phil’s not demanding as a person.  So Jim can still relax, whereas with some other people, he would constantly have to feel like he’s got to juggle to entertain.

I don’t even know why Jim would ever worry, as his story is crazy entertaining.  I think he keeps expecting me to squeal or something with excitement, though, and I’m just not that person.  Ask my parents who, every Christmas, tried to get me The Gift, the one that would make me jump up and down with excitement.  Yeah, that never happened.  In fact, I’ve never jumped up and down about anything in my life.  Ever. 

Damn, now I’m kinda bummed.

Moving on.  Speaking of Phil, he was in my dream last night, along with Jim.  I had taken a job driving a bus.  It looked like that bus in Harry Potter, so it was pretty crazy-looking.  I was trying to maneuver it in a forest, but 1) it was really dark, 2) the hills we were going down were way steep, and 3) we were also driving along cliffs.  Yeah.  CLIFFS.  ON BOTH SIDES.  Don’t ask me how the trees were there.  Floating in air, maybe?

Needless to say, I wasn’t very comfortable driving, so Phil took over, since he’s actually driven buses before.  So when I was paid, I forked over the money to him since, really, I had only driven about 15 minutes of the trip.  Only fair.

Jim, if you were wondering, was there as well, providing lot of commentary and being his hysterical self, but he stayed in one of the passenger seats–like hell he was going to drive down that crazy road in that crazy bus.  I might be dumb, but my man is not. 

In fact, I’m sure he’s smart enough to take me up on the breakfast invitation I’m about to extend.  You know, right after I wake his sleepy ass up.

Adieu!

Last night, I had a dream that I was a pyro.  I kept setting small things on fire and putting them out.  I was really worried about getting caught, so when my alarm went off this morning, it jarred me that much more. 

I don’t know, I thought it was funny.

I’ve been trying to make an effort to remember my dreams again.  I’m finding that it’s almost not worth the effort.  Most of the time, I just dream about work.  I can be in the most bizarre environment, like Smurfville, but I’m always adjusting insurance claims.  No fun.

Last night, I had a dream that I was at a laundromat trying to find a washer.  This laundromat was disgusting.  I mean, it’s worse than that one I used to go to, and in that one, I had to check the washers to make sure there were no dead roaches before putting clothes in.  So you know the dream-laundromat was pretty bad off. 

So that was that stupid dream.  Again, no fun.  But it started a conversation between me and Jim about how one day, we’re going to have our own washer and dryer.  You know.  When we have a house.

Funny, I’ve had these conversations before–with my ex.  About five months before he and I split, we had actually bought our first house.  It was pretty, but it was all looks: The structure was a mess, and in hindsight, I would never buy that house again.  As soon as we had moved into it, I started having nightmares about the house falling apart.  And I settled on too many things that I didn’t like, just because our lease was almost up and I was in a rush.

Next time, I’ll have money set aside specifically for breaking a lease, take my time, and get the house I really want.  I won’t settle so much.

Anyway, one of the really dumb things about my first house: 1) the washer and dryer hook-up was in the bathroom.  I went along with it, but it wasn’t until we moved in that number 2 became apparent, which is 2) there was no dryer vent.

My ex had absolutely no idea how to put in a dryer vent.  Furthermore, he wasn’t interested in finding out.  Doing handyman work made him nervous. 

Hearing that, Jim said, “That’s too bad.  Dryer vents are easy.”

Ooooh, I love when Jim reveals handyman know-how.  It’s all sexy.  I’m glad to know when I’m ready for a house again, I’ll have a man who actually knows something about fixing them up.  (And who has promised to teach me some things.)  For now, though, I’ll settle for my apartment.  Renting means the ability to uproot, and with the plans Jim and I have now, that ability far outweighs the benefits of settling down.

Sometimes, I hate dreams.  I particularly hate paranoia dreams.  Last night, I went to bed–very early, I might add, and who the hell does that on a Friday night?–but I went to bed early and had a dream that I was walking past our laptop on the coffee table, and Jim had an open e-mail with “Late Night Fun” in the subject line.  Of course, the e-mail was sent by some girl hitting on him, but to my surprise, he was actually responding to it.

My dream-reaction was absolute horror and the immediate severing of our relationship.  In real life?  After I woke up, I thought that I should have known that it was just a dream.  I mean, who takes a girl who uses “Late Night Fun” as her subject line seriously?

But now I’m up, in part due to my alarm and my debating whether or not to go to work for a couple hours (I’m against it) and in part due to this dream bugging me.  Luckily, I know the difference between when my subconscious is just venting and when it thinks there’s a real problem.  There’s no real problem.  With Jim, there’ s nothing to be worried about.  He’s about as devoted as they come.  Unfortunately, when you have an ex-husband who did some shady-ass things like mine did, newfound paranoia is something you bring into the next relationship.

You just try to dump a little as possible on the next guy.  You’ll fail, but you try.  Instead, you get a blog and dump it there.  Thank god for technology.