Get out of my dreams.

It has been a funny week. I feel like I am still recovering from going on that massive bender last Wednesday. My sinuses aren’t quite right, my lungs feel like a swamp and exercise is not generating the usual amount of endorphins. I am also super busy with work, which is cutting into my exercise schedule. I haven’t been on a ten mile walk in the last week, I don’t think. Squeezed in about 5 or 6 miles yesterday and about 4 miles a couple of days before that but I liked my 10-miles-a-day routine and I can see myself regaining fat around the abdomen. I think I’m going to have to watch my diet really super carefully. You can’t eat like someone who walks 70 miles a week if you aren’t walking 70 miles a week. I am a bit prone to lattes and handfuls of nuts.

Anyway. I’ve also done weight training twice and swimming twice, so that’s 6 Health points altogether even though this morning I feel like a sweaty lump of flab. So it’s not like I’m completely inactive. I was supposed to have a swimming lesson yesterday but some kid vomited on my swimming teacher, in the water, and they had to close the pool (LOL!).

In other points news, I went out for dinner with my friend B, the one who came to Berlin with me (1 Friends point).

So that is what I am doing during the day. As for what I am doing during the hours of sleep, I don’t even fucking know what is going on in my brain. I have always been a big dreamer. I suspect that I am capable of dreaming about the same topic all night. Back in the day when things were nice between me and the Head Honcho, I used to make a point sometimes of talking to him very late at night, just before going to bed, because doing that would trigger my dream-brain into action and I would be able to spend all night with him while I was asleep. I did that several times. I couldn’t usually remember much of the dreams but I would awake feeling happy and the fragments that I could recall upon waking were lovely. Enough for me to keep doing it on purpose. It was like having some extra time with him, with bonus sleep and being ready for work on time in the morning.

So. As you know, I saw Sayed last week and he revealed all his shocking news, items such as (1) he replaced me within about five seconds of dumping me; (2) they lived together in his flat where he was with me (for some reason, this upsets me); (3) elaborate and extravagant wedding (this upsets me quite a lot as well: even though I didn’t want to marry him and I don’t need any of that flouncy dress bullshit, that doesn’t mean I wanted to hear all the ribbon-festooned details of his wedding to somebody else), and (4) he loves me, if you can call that news. I have mixed feelings about him saying that. On the one hand, it’s an inherently nice thing to say, it is sweet and I love him back. On the other hand, he doesn’t mean very much by it except that he’s not happy with his own life, and also he made me wait 13 years to hear that and I kind of want to slap him for not being able to spit it out at the time when it mattered.

My night time dream brain will not shut up about him. I am being sensible during the day. We obviously aren’t in contact right now. His life and his present circumstances are not a source of happiness for me and also I think he deserves to live with his choices, so he can go home and repent his decisions at leisure, it’s not my problem. Nobody forced him to get married. Also I have a feeling, from what he said, that he is having major surgery round about now because you know what old men are like for health problems. So he certainly has got bigger concerns to think about, and not concerns that I want any part of. So I am spending my daytime hours doing my work and trying to get excited about the gym. At night, bloody hell. Bloody hell. It is Sayed, all night, every night. I don’t know what’s going on in there. I don’t care to look too closely. I wish my brain would shut up. I think it is doing creative historical re-enactments of our break up and his subsequent wedding. I just don’t want to know any more details. I wish it would go away. I don’t want or need to spend every single night with Sayed. At least when I used to dream about the Honcho it was on purpose and they were nice dreams. It’s really pissing me off, actually. The first couple of days, it seemed understandable that he would be on my mind a bit but at this point it’s nearly a week since I saw him and my brain still won’t shut up. I was displeased when I woke up this morning and realised that it was the same story again.


In other love and dating news, Hussein is back in contact and seems happy, which is good. He is the most innocent, good and deserving boy I’ve ever dated and if I was going to take action with regard to improving somebody else’s life, that’s who it would be for. Not men of 60 who have had plenty of time to think about the likely consequences of what they are doing.

In still OTHER love and dating news, this bizarre and slightly upsetting Sayed episode had an interesting result this week. For readers, the Head Honcho contacted me and started up a conversation in which he tried to engineer us getting back together. As you know, ‘getting back together’ is a strange way to describe it because we were never together in the physical sense in the first place, but that is how he is framing it, so whatever. I wasn’t horrible to him. I chatted to him for a bit. But readers, I had no fucks left to give. I didn’t feel anything. It was the emotional equivalent of not being able to get a hard-on. That has never happened to me before. I could always get an emotional hard-on for the Honcho. Never had a problem in that department. Until now. It certainly led to an interesting conversation as he gradually realised that he wasn’t getting me excited. In an unprecedented move, the conversation ended with him attempting to negotiate with me (surely the first time he has voluntarily negotiated over anything in his whole damn life) and me telling him to go to bed and logging off without waiting for him to say good night.

Every cloud has a silver lining, doesn’t it.

Well oh baby, my hair’s on end about you.

Syd Barrett: Terrapin (1970)


One thought on “Get out of my dreams.”

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