Dream Log: January 21, 2002

Had a few nightmares this weekend:

• Dreamt that someone broke into my house and robbed me of everything I own. My laptop...my laptop... I was so distraught over losing it, and all my documents and photographs and random writings. I was so troubled I woke myself up and realized to my great relief that it was all a dream.
• Dreamt of death by nuclear explosion. People and cars melting all around me into an orange soup. No sound in this dream.
• Dreamt that as I was lying in bed, my clothes began to float out of my closet on their hangers. It was a ghost! Some benevolent laundry sorting ghost! As I watched this strange nocturnal activity I was a bit afraid, but I didn't mind, as the ghosts didn't seem to be doing anything bad to my clothes. Since it seemed like nothing to worry about, I ignored them and started to fall asleep again. Suddenly I felt something strangling me! I tried to scream, but I couldn't -- my mouth was gagged. I struggled in panic and woke myself up screaming.

I had a few bad dreams myself this weekend, oddly enough each one involved my boyfriend.

Last night I dreamed that we were going somewhere, and we stopped at this restaurant with two female friends. For some reason they all sat on one side, and I was sitting alone. That felt bad enough. Then I started worrying that he was having a fling with the girl he was sitting next to, so when we were both away from the table I asked him about it, but he said "Of course not, honey, I love you."

I go to the bathroom, come back and he's got his hand on her knee. They're looking awfully cuddly. So I ask them to move seats because I'm uncomfortable. Everyone's like, "Geez, what's your problem? You're over-reacting." I say "Sorry, well, I'm trying to work through my issues here, but just, please move." They all rearrange, but for some reason I'm still sitting alone.

Then we were back on the bus going somewhere again.

In the dream the night before, my boyfriend and I were on his bed, and he gets a call on his cell phone. "Oh, I love you too, *kiss*kiss*kiss*. Yeah, she's here, I'll call you back later Aunt Lilly."

"Wait, you don't have an Aunt Lilly."

Struggling and screaming ensues, until he's laughing maniacally in my face because he's played me, and I'm so tragically wounded by it. There are details in there you don't want to know, but I clearly remember.

Honestly, I don't know why this is an issue for me. My conscious mind knows that I can trust him. He seriously would never do anything like that. And if he cheats on me, so what? He's the asshole. I'm glad to be rid of him, right? So why does the idea of being cheated on hurt so much? The idea of trust being broken? The fear of looking stupid?

Or maybe I'm just trying to deal with the fact that he is leaving me, not for another woman, but for France.