I am still in a good healing place. But tonight I felt I had to come downstairs from trying to fall asleep to get these thoughts on digital paper. He has been quite present in my dreams of late. Not consistently every night, but every week or two he pops up, and it's that amazing feeling of waking up from a dream where you were with your best friend... and then you miss them so much because you didn't really talk to them, and with every waking moment you remember less and less of your reverie. I found myself in bed tonight recognizing something. There is still a piece of me... I'm not prepared to call it small just yet.... but it's a piece that wants to be in another life. It's not just about the exAP either. Tonight what set this off was thinking about something as mundane and banal as furniture and bedding choices. Regretting the poor taste I had when I bought the cheapest thing available without a critical eye to what I want my surroundings to look like... and having this overwhelming thought of, "wouldn't it be kind of cool to just leave and start with a totally clean slate?" I mean, come on. My overly country-themed daybed is bad, but bad enough to make me want to leave a marriage? Maybe there's something else there. And maybe that's why the exAP is coming up in my subconscious again. More after the jump...
I've linked him in such a complete way to a fantasy escape of my life. My life that involves a less than impressive salary, a real, true-to-life, human, flawed spouse, a home that would never be in a magazine, and a closet full of clothes that seemed like such a good idea at the time, but were really just a bad case of sale goggles. Who doesn't think about chucking it all from time to time and starting fresh? We all do. But here's the thing: for me, I think this is about that same core issue of self-hatred. I not only dislike my daybed, I hate myself for being so uncultured as to have bought it with its outdated, frumpy oak wood finish. I think what a dumpy, out of touch midwesterner this choice makes me out to be. All of this! Over a fucking piece of furniture! Girl, I know I am better than that. Who the fuck is this asshole voice in my head and how did it get there?
To me, the exAP was such a balm for that because he not only embodied the kind of cool grace and style I still hope to emulate in my life, but he also magically saw in me the qualities I refused to see in myself. Here is the awful trick of it all though: I still have those qualities whether I make up the fairytale that he and only he saw them and therefore brought them out. Besides, why give him the damn credit? I do have good taste and style. It's just a fucking daybed. And I can replace it someday. Not today. But I also can proudly say I don't have credit card debt, unlike other friends who might be completely on-trend and well-furnished and well-heeled every single day of the week. Yet are in miserably unsustainable positions in other ways in their lives.
What is important in my life? Look around my home and you'll see that material things are not a huge component of that answer. Yet I get caught up in it. It's not all there is to the story, at all... it's just what brought me down this sad, familiar road tonight. I was just laying down, mind racing away, and I found myself articulating the wish: "Let me visit him tonight. Let it be in OUR special place. I miss it and him so."
Escape. Fantasy. So much easier to deal with than reality. Don't you think?