I had a horrible dream last night. I dreamt it was morning, and I heard my spouse get up and start moving around, getting dressed, and I rolled over to see it was my ex-husband, the 450-pound leech. "What are you doing here?" I squeaked. "What do you mean?" he said. "I'm your husband."
This was followed by me trying to pretend everything was normal, while wondering--horrified--if the past year had been a dream after all, and trying to slip away to check my laptop for messages from the SP. Meanwhile, the ex is following me around, whining about how I seem so distant lately, and he doesn't want to lose me, and he's really going to change this time, really. I feel suffocated just remembering it. I finally escaped into the bathroom, staring down into the plastic almond-colored sink of my old apartment, trying to visualize the chipped white porcelain of my new sink, in the old house I share with the SP, muttering incantations like, "There's no place like home," under my breath.
Luckily for me, the SP started snoring, as he often does around 4 a.m., and I woke up violently to find his bony elbow nudging me in the temple. I tickled him in the armpit. He snorted and turned on his side and I began to breathe normally again, as the nightmare pressure eased off my chest.
When I told the SP about it this morning, he said it was no surprise I was having nightmares, after that movie we saw last night, Children of Men. It's an impressive piece of dystopic science fiction, but it makes you ask yourself, would it really be such a bad thing if humanity died out?
Oh, and we ripped down another section of wall yesterday. It's kind of fun. We're going to take the ceiling down, too, and encase the whole room in fresh new sheetrock and paint. I'm glad about that. Sheetrock is a lot cleaner than plaster, which tends to shower fine powder down on everything, constantly. That's a big consideration since I want to have my computer and sewing supplies in that room.
It's neat, having that room stripped out. It's like a blank canvas, waiting to be made pretty.
3 comments:
There is a saying: "Eat a live toad each morning, and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day." Hmmm!!! Perhaps you should consume the squirming amphibian before bedtime.
SG
Eee. Nasty way to wake up, that.
I came to a conclusion a while ago that whoever directs my worst dreams worked with Hitchcock, once... and works damned hard on his back story, consults regularly with his continuity people. They're always entirely so damned plausible, so bloody seamless... none of those nice Lynchian dwarves or Dali-esque melting clocks to give away the game that it's a dream... Cruel, really.
Re plaster: we've a lot of that stuff, here. House is also the right age. And I don't really have the sheetrock option, as we've got all these shaped areas--cool rounded/archlike things in the doorways, pretty shaped decorative borders against the ceilings, and so on--and my wife is most against anything that might, oh, make these into plane ole' right angles...
So patching promptly (where hairline cracks form due to settling and the like) and painting as needed will also do for the dust, as I've discovered.
Plane = plain. Geez. Ya'd think I'd been drinking (which, for the record, I haven't).
Geometry confusion thing/association with right angles issue, I'm gonna claim.
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