I had dreams last night – they were strange and somewhat disturbing. The content was pretty normal aside from some weird twists, but there was a generally unsettling feeling.

Unfortunately I rolled around in bed for another half hour, went out for a cigarette and talked to the neighbors, and drank half a cup of coffee before coming here, so we’ll see what happens.

Yesterday I told the boy about my robot therapy session here… then immediately after, clicking through for link building, saw every reference to times I told myself not to tell him. I paused… I really can’t tell him this, or show him this, it would be terrible. I am terrible, in some ways. In the way that I would show him exactly how terrible I think he is.

But it’s true. So why am *I* mean, for telling the truth? For showing people what they do to me, instead of just taking it like a bitch? Why does nice have to mean that I take on the suffering for everyone else, and never tell them that they’re literally killing me? Do I make those demands of other people? <=== proof I’m not a psycho. Do I though? I don’t think I do, but for some reason I can’t help thinking of my Father. What would he say about this?

I have to call him anyway.

There was a lot going on in my dreams. I dreamed of my dog… it’s been a while. I wish it were a better dream, but at least I know that I can still remember with clarity what she looks like.

My vision was blurry, is blurry, today.

We were on a cruise ship. By we I mean myself, and everyone. I’m not sure how it happened, but I think I had my period (why am I still embarrassed to talk about this, embarrassment is the most uncomfortable feeling. I think I fear it more than fear itself, am I a narcissist?) but it was brown and thick, like cooked blood. Unfortunately, it got on the floor, in one long smear.

My dog was lying next to it. There was no way I could wipe it up without everyone seeing, so for some reason I denied that it was mine, and instead blamed it on the dog (how cruel to the dog, especially since I see her so rarely.

A medic came down, concerned for my dog. He was tall, bald, pale, and pretty attractive. He scooped her up and went upstairs.

After that, we were all sitting in the living room, one of the girls was a grade school friend that I had, who despite everything was always nice to me and never succumbed to the petty cliquishness that ruined so many of those years. She was sitting on a beige, linen-like couch. She reached into the cushion and pulled out a pad, tied up neatly in a white plastic bag, and asked me what it was. She then lifted up a couch cushion to show that underneath were all of my clothes – all of my lingerie and sexy outfits, the strange ones that I never wear but yet are thrown everywhere around my house.

I awkwardly explained that I had been there before, left the clothes there, and somehow got busy and never came back. I never mentioned the pad.

The medic came down the stairs from the deck (remember this is a cruise ship, the view outside the windows was the bright and blue of open ocean) with my dog, who was now white and freshly bathed and groomed. She had a shaved spot over her right shoulder (but why do I mentally reference my left when I think of it) and I could see brown hair under it, a relief. She seemed in good spirits, I miss her smile.

The medic leaned in close to me and a man (It would have been my ex with the dog, but for some reason the energy, which is a palpable energy that I utterly feed off of, was clearly that of the boy) and explained that the blood was human blood, apparently menstrual. He said he didn’t know why people did that, get so embarrassed about that. I could have just said I stepped on a chapstick and smeared it, and just wiped it up.

He was right.

It did look like brown lipstick.

Not really what I wanted to talk about today, but I suppose it’s as good a topic as any.

Embarrassment was the theme of both dreams. I have a choice now, whether to go after the underlying feelings of the sleep story above, or move on to the next one. Both are going to be hard.

Not sure how I transitioned to this, as I don’t remember waking up.

I was outside, it was a summer barbecue at a house that I have been to… the 4th of July party that the boy and I went to? But I wasn’t with him, I was with my last ex. The guests were all the usual crowd from the bar that I frequent, where my ex used to go but the boy has never been.

We were going to do Kareoke. We lined up to put our names in, and someone was passing around a book. The DJ, who is the usual reggae DJ at our usual bar (it’s a complicated backstory, but I guess that’s what fueled the pending embarrassment of the dream) had highlighted his own songs in the book, the lyrics were printed out on cream colored paper, like cheap ass Avery fall decorated pages. There were of course other songs, but for some reason the group all decided that it would be a cool thing to do for the DJ if we all sang only his songs.

It would have been a great idea, actually. Too bad I don’t know any of his songs at all, I couldn’t even identify them by sound. I should, I wonder if I can download some.

The selections were being made, and I feigned that I couldn’t decide. Some of us sat down at an outdoor table… I remember sitting at the head of the table, with my ex standing behind whoever was sitting in the seat across from me. He was engaged in the party, he’s so great at parties, but I needed support. He never sensed that. But where was I when he needed support? Maybe I’m just as shitty of a girlfriend.

I was still flipping through the book, every bit of it unfamiliar, when the DJ called my name (does he even know my name).

I remember thinking I should have gone to the bathroom, somehow disappeared… everyone’s eyes still on me, still leafing through the book, knowing that this was going to be terrible but not seeing a way to back out without embarrassing myself further.

I hate karaoke

Why is embarrassment so hard for me to deal with, and why can I not even spell it? I blame (not the right word, but yes it sort of is) my Father, who puts image before everything, his own physical well being, and mine. I was raised to look nothing less than perfect, never limp even if you only have one leg.

When I explained to him that the most disturbing part of my eye issues was not knowing if I looked like I had a lazy eye or something, he understood perfectly.

My vision is disturbingly worse today, or at least it feels that way. When I lay down last night, the wavy psychedelic lines that cover my field of vision on the right side were much more pronounced than they have been in weeks. Maybe that’s what set off these dreams.

I don’t want to deal with this now, I have so much else going on… my complaints are futile. I wish there was an objective way to actually measure my vision around here. It was going well, and all of the doctors are giving up on me.

I haven’t been taking my vitamins (although I considered adding more to my regimen, why) and I definitely haven’t quit smoking.

What is wrong with me, how much is it going to take?