the wittiest widow

Witty Commentary on widowhood

Don’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Okay I guess I shall elaborate if I expect this to ever get published in any kind of research journal of fine repute. This is my less than subtle, bitter way of saying I’ve got no time for women who think it’s cute and forms camaraderie to complain about all their husbands’ mundane shortcomings in a very public forum, i.e. a kid’s birthday party where he is not helping out enough. I. AM. NOT. HERE. FOR. IT.  Once, I tagged along to a birthday party for my nephew and was horrified by what I saw, heard, smelled, and tasted! Aside from the fact that kids’ birthday parties nowadays have to somehow be a social event for the parents as well by forcing them to stay the entire 4 hours (barf), these kids are spoiled beyond belief! This party might as well have been a soft opening for the next Cirque de Soleil show. What happened to a slip n’ slide and some pizza from Little Caesar’s? But that’s a post for another time.  What I encountered was a privileged white woman in a gaudy McMansion running around frazzled and talking mad shit about her husband, who was casually watching football.  Now I’m not defending the lazy, chauvinist guy on the couch, but I am defending the fact that she chose to marry him and she got what she got. So frankly, if he does what he’s always done, you have no one to be mad at but yourself.  Plus, I assume he left the couch at least occasionally to go to work and pay for that structure that some people refer to as a house, but I thought was more an art installation depicting the housing crisis of 2007. Also, for the record, all of these tasks he wasn’t completing to her specifications were ridiculous and unnecessary. I’m pretty sure that if the green PJ Masks (some random kid shit) goes before the blue one, the party will survive.  Anyhoo, she then proceeded to gather all the hens, I mean moms, and me, around her giant granite kitchen island and roll her eyes and tell us what a loser he is and dick he’s being.  I had just met her that day, but was already over it, as it were, by the Trump sign I’d seen earlier in her front window. So I felt the need to say “yeah…but at least you have a husband.”  The silence was deafening.  I know that she knew my situation, but still thought I would delight in the take down of her beloved (it’s debatable). Well, false.  I promptly turned around and filled a glass with the signature cocktail (?) chosen for this 4 year old’s birthday party.

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The source of Trump Tammy’s ire.

While this is an extreme example, I find I notice the one off negative comments about spouses much more nowadays. And it really grinds my gears! Aside from the obvious lack of husband due to his permanent vacation, I can honestly say I’ve always found it ugly and never spoke about Bryan that way when we were together. Now my distaste is just turned up to 11. Of course we fought and of course he annoyed the crap out of me, but I didn’t think telling an acquaintance (or rando I just met at a party) how bad he was at loading the dishwasher was “fun” or even made him better at loading said dishwasher.  This is separate from confiding in close friends about relationship problems and bigger issues.  That serves a very important purpose, and I’m happy to be a sounding board for my friends to this day.  I just want people to take a step back sometimes and be thankful that he’s even there to yell at about how he laid the PJ Masks characters out so shittily in the first place. Oh, and keep it to yourself, because it’s frankly a boring conversation topic to begin with.  That is all.

Today. Today is the day that Bryan has officially been gone 2 years.  Sometimes it feels like it just happened yesterday and I’m right back in the shock, sadness, and chaos of those first few days.  Other times it feels like it was a dream you wake up from and have a hard time remembering the details.  It’s surreal to think about my life just 2 years and 1 day ago and how I don’t even recognize it, me, or people in that life.  There’s very little about Emily BBD (before Bryan’s death) that seems to have carried through to Emily ABD (after Bryan’s death).  Sure, I’m still “me” but for the most part I feel fundamentally changed in my core being.  This is something I have a hard time articulating.  Those that know both Emily BBD and Emily ABD will say sure, you’re still you, just sadder or maybe more cynical.  And while that’s true, I feel like it’s more than that.  I see the world differently.  I react to situations differently.  I care far less about what people think and what kind of impression I’m making, for better or worse.  It’s likely worse, but whatevs.

One the 1 year anniversary, we honored Bryan in a park he loved with a memorial celebration surrounded by friends and family.  It was healing and sad and genuine and gut wrenching, yet still had its funny moments.  I loved hearing stories about him before I came along from this childhood friends.  In a way it felt like I was still getting to know him.  Today there will be less pomp and circumstance, but I know that many people will be thinking about him, hopefully laughing a little bit and likely crying a lot.  In fact, I wrote this yesterday to allow for maximum “feeling my feels time”. #selfcare

bryan memorial

As my sophomore year of widowhood comes to a close, I can say with certainty that those who warned me it would be “harder” were right — sort of.  Maybe it’s just different. Year 1 is all about addressing the shock and surviving.  Year 2 is about getting down to the business of living and your “new normal” whatever the fuck that is.  It’s the mundane, boring existence that surrounds the majority of everyday life.  It’s maintaining a house, paying bills, running errands, going to work, seeing friends (when you can force yourself to leave the house)…except doing it all solo with this nagging pit in your stomach that’s there to constantly remind you of the void in your life.  Plenty of single people live happy and fulfilled lives. So I’m not knocking them at all.  In fact that was me for the majority of my twenties. I was out there doing it!  It’s just that now I have to do it while knowing what could have been and how it’s just sometimes easier with someone in your corner.

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When the shock wears off and the early stages of grief have ended, you gain a different perspective on your situation.  In this second year, I think it was less about that longing and acute missing Bryan feeling (don’t get me wrong, if that dude showed up today I’d be all over him like a spider monkey), and more about my anger and sadness at my life situation.  When I thought about myself as a “widow” and what that meant, it was no longer always “my husband is dead, WTF” like the first year.  It was more like “I feel lonely, angry, empty, annoyed” and an overall feeling of “I can’t be bothered” to be dealing with this life circumstance.  But SPOILER ALERT I did anyway. Yay me.   There’s also a sense in year 2 from those in your orbit that you should be moving on.  I’m here to give this PSA: there is no timeline on grief! Once a widow, always a widow.  And unless you’re a licensed professional or a widow/widower yourself, you have no authority to infer/imply/or flat out tell me what I should and shouldn’t be doing or how I should be living. That’s just #FACTS.

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Possible tattoo idea??? Am I Right? [sidenote: those experiencing grief are not known for their rational decision making skills]

Also, in an exciting turn of events, and when I say “exciting” I really mean “daunting” and “triggering,” the anxiety and guilt that lay dormant for 18 months over how it all went down decided to rear its ugly mug, and I’ve been addressing my latent PTSD in this second year as well. FUN STUFF!  Sparing the details, I know on a rational level that I couldn’t have done anything to change the outcome, but when my brain decides to flash the scenes from the day, it’s pretty damn rough.  I don’t want to remember Bryan that way so I’m working through that bullshit with Dr. F.  Maybe the 3rd year is when I become a self actualized phoenix who rises from the ashes in a blaze of radiant color not yet seen by the human eye to say “Hello World! Here I am!”. Probably not. But hey, you never know.

Love you Bryan, mean it.  And you too, widowinos.

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As many of you probably have also done recently, I stumbled upon that pixie-esque Japanese delight that is Marie Kondo via her ubiquitous Netflix series, Tidying Up with Mario Kondo.  I had a vague notion of who she was via my layman’s knowledge of the cultural zeitgeist, but I was woefully uninformed on the truly life changing art that can come from purging your shit.  Anyhoo, after watching a few episodes, I decided to think about just what does and does not spark joy in my life…truth not much.  All touchy-feely thanking your clothes as you chuck them in a trash bag aside, Mrs. Kondo makes some goods points with her patented KonMarie method.

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I’ve never been that happy about anything, including Bryan, as Marie Kondo is about a stranger’s black t-shirt.

I’ve noticed over the last 716 days that I’ve been husband-less that I’ve started to fill the void in my life with “things”.  It started slowly at first, perhaps out of boredom, that I might go to Ulta just to browse; or open the Amazon app just to see what they recommended for me.  Now, almost 2 years later, (ugh the dreaded deathiversary is fast approaching) I’m Diamond status at Ulta, and have a whole 3rd bedroom full of still-packed boxes of my former married life, as well as Amazon boxes full of crap I don’t need.   Who buys a bedazzled dickie or marble-look bathroom cups just because Amazon suggests them? I do.

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If I’m being truly honest, this dickie has totally sparked some mutha fuckin’ joy.

When I first bought and moved into my post-marital home last year, there was a lot to do and a lot to buy, and I have to admit, I was kind of getting a rush from buying a new comfy couch, selecting the perfect quartz counter top, and going all in on a fancy front loader washer and dryer.  So many paint color choices!  Is the thread count on these sheets high enough? Never mind that I had like 4 sets of perfectly fine sheets somewhere in a box.  I needed to buy these new ones. My former self would have been ashamed.  Who succumbs to basic domesticity so easily? Oh. That’s right.  A widow who has already had to succumb to playing the game of life with a 2-7 offsuit hand.  It’s starting to make sense now!

So after folding my underwear in thirds and letting my socks “rest” as Marie suggests, I started to get inspired.  What else could I start storing vertically so it’s viewable in my life?  Better yet, what could I just say “Arigato” and  “Sayonara” to and start to remove some of the weight off this emotional yolk I’ve been bearing? (Sidenote: the yolk is a very deep emotional metaphor for how I feel burdened daily that I came up with in therapy. Continuously evolving y’all.)  Since I’m finally starting to learn that the tiny rush I get from ordering stuff and seeing the box on my doorstep, or grabbing the latest mascara and earning more points, is fleeting, and that I generally feel just the same or worse later, it’s time to think of all the good the purge does.  I’ve started to avoid and purge negative influences as well.  It’s not just my stuff I need out of my house; it’s some of the dark emotions and feelings that rumble around in my head that need to go. It’s letting go of the hurt I feel towards people who let me down.  It’s starting to remove the “stuckness” I have and opening myself up to moving forward…in whatever fashion that may be.  It is also totally about thanking my Camp Horizons ’97 t-shirt and tossing it because it no longer sparks joy for me.  Until I;m a totally self-actualized human being, I’ll just be breaking down a bunch of cardboard in my guest room.

OMG you guys. Puhleeeze tell me you’ve seen the documentaries about the music festival that never was, Fyre Fest. Not going to lie, I subscribed to Hulu just so I could watch its documentary, Fyre Fraud, only AFTER I devoured the Netflix documentary aptly titled Fyre.  For an emotionally unstable widow, these docs are my kryponite.  I vaguely remember when this shit show all went down (April 2017) but to be fair, I was barely showering back then.  Well after watching the downfall of over indulged millennials, I went down an internet rabbit hole that took me days to get out of.  When I did finally emerge 48 hours later, I knew I had a mission in life. Everyone I know should walk, nay RUN to their nearest streaming device and check these hot messes out. Maybe all the shit that’s happened in my life has led me to this point?  Wait. that’s dark.  So maybe not.

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I’ll still keep spreading the good word of the Book of Fyre though.  This is a cautionary tale of what can happen when Ja Rule (R-U-L-E!) becomes friends with this dork ass Jersey Boy named Billy, and their social media personas take over their cognitive decision making skills, or lack thereof.  Aside from the juicy factor, I feel like this is really a social commentary on the FOMO culture of the 21st century.  All the hype and build up and buzz around this music festival was just a facade, and ultimately led to its downfall.

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The “dream team”

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There isn’t an insta filter strong enough for this wasteland.

That’s just me getting all deep and cerebral about a juicy gossip story.  Maybe this resonated with me so much because my grief and subsequent depression makes me feel like people’s shiny happy social media lives have been turned up to 11, and I constantly have to remind myself that I’m not the only one with a less than an American Dream reality.  So when the curtain is pulled back, and the private yacht-luxury villa-sushi-Pablo Escobar island-fantasy was just that, a fantasy, it was more than just a little satisfying.  I honestly feel like Josh is all of us when watching these documentaries.

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Chicken soup for the middle-class soul is right! You know everyone grieves in their own way, and I’ve been told over and over by “experts” that there’s no wrong to grieve.  So I guess I can add smug realness to my box of therapy tools! Any moments of the day not spent thinking about my life or doing the “hard work” of moving foward, or “being strong” are moments I cherish.  So these collective 3 hours was time well spent in my book.  I would love, love love to discuss all the amazingness that was Fyre Fest in the comments. Until then, I’m going to go look for my glamping villa, I mean FEMA tent now.

Hola fellow widowinos.  It’s 2019 and you know that that means!!!…Absolutely nothing.  The new year has never really meant more to me than the passage of  time, but as a lonely woman it only serves to highlight the status quo of my less than awesome life.  Apologies for my MIA status the past few months. The final quarter of every year is a bit rough for me as I forge through the emotional minefields of my late father’s birthday, Bryan’s birthday, my dad’s death day (on Thanksgiving!), my would-be wedding anniversary that I’ve never actually celebrated with my husband, and of course Christmas.  Ah, the holidays! As of I’ve said before, now fraught with melancholy!  But I digress. So for as much of a resolution as I plan to make, I resolve to post on a more regular basis, as I know you all are itching with anticipation at every thought (not really).

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Since we last spoke, I can’t say anything totally radical has changed.  I go to therapy, take my meds, try to get out and be social, work the steps and go to meetings — oh, wait that’s a different program isn’t it.  Maybe that’s my problem! But in all seriousness, while I don’t always feel like I’m progressing in my grief day-to-day, when I take periodic check-ins from this day a year ago, I do see some progress (I think, I hope).  For example, Christmas 2017 I just pretended wasn’t happening.  So much so, that I flew over an ocean to get away from it.  I spent the actual day of Christmas in rainy London catching up on sleep from jet lag from my Christmas Eve flight across the pond (side note, how does Santa do it?! amiright?).  Then I spent the subsequent days sightseeing and drinking tea and being around friendly strangers who had no idea what my story was and I LOVED it. Also, Christmas in general is far less commercialized and in your face in Britain than it is here, so it was a welcome relief.  This year I decided to face the music and acknowledge the day and the time with the family I have left. It wasn’t…horrible.  Maybe next year I can say it wasn’t too bad. I even willed myself to put a tree up in the home I  bought completely after Bryan that he has no connection to.  Opening those Christmas ornaments was like a firing squad of emotion as I unwrapped newspaper only to be hit upside the head with “Remember your engagement???” or “LOOK! Your honeymoon!”.  Needless to say, decorating the tree took a few hours as I had to take to my bed frequently and revive myself with loads of smelling salts.  BUT I did it. And I guess I’m proud?

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I’ve also been more cognizant of the fact that time is moving forward for those around me, whether I feel like it has for me or not.  Within my friend group in just the last few months, there’s been a birth, 3 new pregnancies, a couple moves, a cancer diagnosis in remission, and quite a few new furry friends.  Oh and also this girl I know announced her THIRD ENGAGEMENT! I mean kudos to her. I’d love to know her secret. Anyway, all this to say that while I’ve spent the past few months trying out makeup tutorials on Youtube and watching really obscure crime documentaries on Netflix, the world has kept on spinning.  I hope, with cautious optimism of course, that 2019 brings me something more exciting than just the final season of Game of Thrones, but if that’s all, it wouldn’t be that surprising.  Until next time, here’s to whatever kind of 2019 you want to have, and dear God I hope the House indicts Trump.

So it’s been a hot minute since I posted to the Widowino Universe.  Apologies, I was just experiencing some summertime sadness, laying on a flamingo float alone in my backyard pool staring up at the clouds.  Speaking of summertime sadness, sometimes I just like to chill and feel my feels while listening to sweet jams.  I’ve always found music to vibe with whatever mood I’m in, and ever since I was a newly minted driver cruising with windows down rocking out to Now That’s What I Call Music Vol. 8, it’s been a meditative experience for me.  Bryan was the same way.  We made playlists for every experience, big or small.  Whether it was a kiss-themed playlist for our aptly named “Smooch Fest 2014” all the way up to allowing our wedding DJ zero creative license by giving him literally every song to play, music “rocked’ our soul.  So it seems right that I created a  new soundtrack for the shit-storm that is my current life.  I’ve been collecting songs for months, in anticipation of the ultimate sonic release and this post, of course.  So if you’ve been searching for the perfect melancholy blend of notes, look no more!  These are the ultimate songs to do the emotional heavy lifting.  Have you ever been crying in the mirror and thought I wish I had some equally depressing music right now? THESE are those songs!  Or maybe you’re on a train, not sure where it’s going, and while you rest your head against the rain covered window, you thought “you know what this cliched sad moment needs, a soundtrack”. Then you’ve come to the right place!  The playlist can totally be played on shuffle, but for the true emotional roller coaster, I suggest playing them in the order listed here.  Enjoy! (Note: for maximum enjoyment have a day, in the tub, with red wine and a good cry.  Make sure to stay in there long enough for the water to get cold and then ever so slowly submerge your head.  Lastly, tell yourself you did your best over and over.)

  1. On the Nature of Daylight — Max Richter.  If my life was a movie, this is the song that would have been playing while you watched me run up the stairs in slow motion and find Bryan.  The song that played while the EMTs pushed me out of the way as I was hysterical, still in slow motion.  The song that played while the phone fell to the ground in the foreground of the shot…yes, still in slow motion. Too morbid? I think you may be lost then, here let me direct you to a site that might be more your speed.  Now I just mostly listen to this song when I take my makeup off in front of my Hollywood vanity mirror in total darkness except for those 12 mirror bulbs illuminating my face and its suddenly aged (pronounced “age-ed”) wrinkles. I’m also wearing a chic mu mu a la Glenn Close in Sunset Boulevard.  Interesting side note, I wear mu mus now. I’m really leaning in to this whole widow thing!  Sheryl Sandberg would be proud, on BOTH accounts.
  2. Life and Death — Paul Cardall.  This aptly named little diddy  has a lot of the great melodies you think of when something profound happens in life, or death…Oh I see what he did there!  Cardall actually wrote this song while facing his own mortality waiting for a heart transplant, and I think that really gives it the extra punch of authenticity, don’t you?  The crescendo is quite dramatic and good for solo train rides around the 3:45 mark.
  3. Fade Into You — Mazzy Star.  Everyone has that quintessential emo moment of their adolescence when they were feeling hella deep. Just me? Oh.  Well anyway, for me that moment was the slow dance prom scene in the highly underrated 1995 movie Angus. The popular girl had just given Angus some #realtalk about her bulimia and actually imperfect life and it was deep AF for my 10 yo self.  Point is, this is the song they dance to as prom king and queen.  Now that I’m old enough to actually understand its meaning, I think the lyrics are a solid metaphor for my feelings on losing my identity as part of an “us’ and a wife and how I need to forge a new identify. #barf
  4. To Build a Home — The Cinematic Orchestra.   This song was a must add to the playlist ever since I saw that crappy old crock pot spark and set those curtains aflame and then proceeded to lose my shit along with the rest of America.  If this is the song that’s played the moment the Pearson family’s life went up in literal and proverbial flames, then it’s good enough for me.  Of all the songs on my list, I think this one elicits the most single dramatic tears down my face.  I think of the future I won’t get with Bryan and the fact that I won’t get “to build a home” with him, like ever.
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    FYI: I store my crock pot in a certified clean room devoid of oxygen now.

     

  5. When It’s Cold I’d Like to Die– Moby.  If you’re surprised to see a Moby song on here, perhaps you’ve never heard of Moby.  The first line of this song is “Where were you when I was lonesome?” for pete’s sake!  It’s a question I ask a lot; maybe to myself and maybe to Bryan, depending on what you believe, but at this point I still have anger over him leaving me, and by all accounts, and Dr. F, that’s perfectly fine.  Also, I felt/feel like dying a lot, cold or otherwise, so this makes sense.
  6. Captain Phillips– Henry Jackman.  One thing I’ve always done is listen to movie scores while I need to concentrate and write and think.  I do it even while blogging! When I heard Jackman’s score in Captain Phillips, it moved me.  Maybe it was the majesty of Tim Honks, America’s hero (that’s his name right?) bringing the captain’s fear and anguish to life, but this song gives me the feels.  The tagline of the movie was “out here survival is everything” and most days I feel like I’m just surviving, so this tune was apropos.
  7. Born to Die — Lana Del Rey.  Fake lips and horrible live performances aside, I actually love Lana Del Rey.  This song epitomizes how I feel when I’m out pretending to the world to be “okay”.  It’s also got a zero fucks given vibe, which I must admit has been one of the few freeing things to come from the tar pit of my brain.
  8. Nothing Compares 2 U — Sinead O’Connor.  It’s totally been longer than 7 hours and 16 days since Bryan took his love away, but I do certainly sleep all day so at least that part of the song is accurate.  Plus this is a true oldie but goody when it comes to the lonely hearts club.  I’ve also considered shaving my head more than once over the last 18 months, and Sinead may or may not have been the inspiration.  Hey, a widow’s ideas can’t all be winners okay?? Bonus: The single dramatic tear game in the video is quite strong.
  9. The Cold — Exitmusic.   Another “cold” song.  I guess there’s only so many metaphors for sadness.  Lead singer Aleksa Palladino’s voice is haunting and how I envision I would sound if I had any talent.  This is the quintessential song for solitary staring off into the distance, perhaps by a body of water (dealer’s choice), or better yet headstone. True Story: this song came on while I was visiting Bryan at the cemetery.
  10. Habits (Stay High) — Tove Lo. This is the song I imagine would be the personification of my life, if I had gone down the vice route while dealing with grief.  I’m honestly a little bummed it didn’t happen for me, I hear opioids are all the rage right now.  But according to my extensive widow research since this is a blog of the highest journalist integrity, self medication and destructive decisions are a common part of many people’s grieving process.  So this song makes the list as an homage to my fellow widow divas currently laying over in Struggle City, and that’s just fine.
  11. Runnin (Lose It All) — Naughty Boy ft Beyoncé and Arrow Benjamin.  If I lose myself, I lose it all.  That’s the theme of this anthem that Queen Bey sprinkled her magic dust all over.  It talks of loss, loneliness, and doing it all yourself, with a catchy beat to back it up.  They don’t call her a queen for nothing.
  12. Green Light — Lorde.  A little bit of anger, a little bit of hope, and lot of bad assness.  I wish I could “just get my things and just let go”.  In some ways I’ve done that already, but in many ways I’m waiting for my green light, stuck in neutral at that light that’s always red at that abandoned intersection.  Why can’t I just hit the gas and go?  What’s stopping me? Oh right, crippling depression.
  13. Elastic Heart — Sia.  I’ve got thick skin and an elastic heart.  Grieving does nothing if not make you harder, better, faster, stronger©.  You start to see the world differently and you’re forever changed, as much as you may try to fight it.  I feel like Sia really gets me and my internal struggle here, so good job Sia.  P.S. How do we feel about Shia LeBeouf in the video? Oddly attractive and rugged? No? Yeah, me neither.
  14. All By Myself — Celine Dion.  You might be thinking…hmm safe choice.  Or “wow this one’s a little on the nose”.  And to you I say, don’t question Celine or my’s decisions ever! The reality of the situation is I am, in fact “all by myself” and I “don’t wanna be” anymore, sooooo yeah.  And who doesn’t love a good power ballad to sing into their ice cream/dinner spoon (hello 2:40 mark)?!
  15. Dancing On My Own — Robyn.  When I get there, this is the song I think will be my anthem when I’m at peace with my new life and I’m just out there, dancing on my own, and owning my dance.

So there you have it, music essential for being in your feelings.  I’ve got loads more but this post was taking longer to write than I felt like it should so that’s what you get!  Let me know what music gets you through hard times and makes you feel the feels!  I’ll make a B-sides soon with reader suggestions.

I don’t dream about Bryan much anymore, and that’s unfortunate.  He wasn’t even in many dreams in the beginning.  When he was they were very disjointed and we were usually dealing with the fact that we had just broken up (?) or something else equally stressful.  It was an odd way of interpreting him dying, but dreams are never really literal anyway.  Side note, if you do dream about only mundane everyday things, maybe you should read a Tolkien novel or something. Anyway, I did recently dream about Bryan, after getting nada from the celestial plane for months. When I woke up however, I wasn’t exactly stoked about it. You see, my subconscious had manifested a version of my spirit bae who was kind of a…tool.  It was Bryan, just douchey.  Like if Bryan lived in Ocala, Florida or some other equally godforsaken, southern fried place, and wore crocs and jorts exclusively.  In the dream Bryan was straight stealing checks, checks (!) from random people and using them to buy stuff like TVs, video games, and…lawn equipment. Aside from the televisons which are universally liked, he wasn’t in to either video games or lawn equipment in real life. I can’t even. Um what does it mean when your subconscious talks shit about your husband?  I was so confused.

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Now Mr. Griffith, exactly why were you committing the truly low-rent crime of stealing checks? It’s frankly, embarrassing.

Just think of me as a well-dressed Leonardo DiCaprio because it’s time to go into the dream, and unpack this shall we? First question, why is this dream set in the swamp land of the Australia of America? I live in Florida now (which also means I’ve got a license to talk shit®), but never Ocala, and Bryan never lived here.  If I was the architect of this dream, I sure as well wouldn’t have picked a place where there are more meth heads than alligators.  Neither of those things are particularly appealing to begin with, and Ocala’s got a shit ton of both. Secondly, the Bryan I and everyone knew was the kindest most generous person ever.  He wasn’t no criminal, and even if he was, I’m sure it would have been for something way sexier than check fraud.  Like diamond heisting on the French Riviera.  He always looked quite dapper in a tuxedo. Lastly, he wasn’t even good at it! I can’t remember exactly how his thievery was revealed, because dreams are foggy, but like it wasn’t hard to figure out.  Then everyone was pissed off and I had to defend him as the good wife that I am/was/will be whatever.  According to the 2-second Google search I just did, dreams “which revolve around theft are the psyche’s way of indicating a fear of loss in your life. When you have dreams about theft, consider your own feelings of security in your waking world.” Well that actually…makes a lot of sense I suppose.  Although I”m not sure how scared about loss I still am since it’s happened to me more than once on some heavy AF levels.  Also I give zero fucks about my own life and I”m not scared to die #liberated, so maybe it’s not that accurate after all.

It was a weird dream feeling (what I call the feels you have in the dream world) to know everyone pretty much thought your hubby was an a-hole, and that you had to be his ride or die (too late) chick when you weren’t feeling him either.  Dream Bryan didn’t even apologize when I pulled out the big guns of “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”!  Well I don’t remember much after that, except waking up and thinking “I don’t dream about you for 6+ months, and the first time back you’re a petty check thief?!”  Damn subconscious, it’s shady over here.  I couldn’t really find too much specifically on dreaming about a dead loved one acting differently, but the general themes were anxiety, insecurity, and change, which all sounds about right.  So I guess I’ll chalk this up to I’ll take what I can get, and hope my psyche interacts with a better version of Bryan in the future.  For now, I’ve got to make sure that top has actually stopped spinning…

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Gordon Darroch's Unreal Domain

Making things up since 1837. Contact me at sendittogordon [at] gmail.com

An Unexpected Family Outing

This is a place for sharing. This is a place for families. This is a place inspired by a mother's love.

the wittiest widow

Witty Commentary on widowhood

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A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.

Longreads

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The Daily Post

The Art and Craft of Blogging

The WordPress.com Blog

The latest news on WordPress.com and the WordPress community.