I had a dream I was in my childhood home, except, it was stylized in 1950s cliché retrograde. I was arguing with my wife wearing a suit and tie, no doubt, having worked a long and stressful day to arrive home for some nagging and a badly prepared dinner, or worse yet, take-out, even though she had been home all day.
The house was messy, and that only made me more angry, because I am a neat person. During the melt-down, she told me that every time she went to visit her girlfriends and family out of town, she was actually hooking up with other men.
She then proceeded to tell me that she had three abortions I knew nothing about since we had been married. This was the tipping point, since she was not only being careless with her life, but mine as well. I slapped her so hard that her head hit the edge of the table. Blood was everywhere. I felt instant regret that I might go to jail, but no remorse for hitting her.
I awoke with so much anger, looking at shadowy fleur-de-lis, lying in my bed, suddenly remembering where I was, and who I am. It felt so real. I was certain that I would wake up in jail instead.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is my subconscious battle, between my inner romantic, and my rational skeptic who must live in the cold stark reality of the real world.
I have absolutely no idea which side will win, but either way, alone time could stand to improve my French, guitar playing, writing, and help catch up on my reading. Being alone does not make a person lonely if they have a rich inner world. I just hope no one gets disappointed by that fact. Sometimes it is the best, or only choice, in a world gone mad.