My dreams have been a bit pedophilic lately. No, not like that, good God, I mean, the theme of these dreams center around kids. The latest, I was standing on a sidewalk and surrounded by snakes. Dozens of snakes. Then all around me, kids were walking along, looking at them and smiling at how pretty they were, not realizing that they prettier the snake, the deadlier the snake. I couldn’t race to their aid like I wanted, not without getting bit. I knew I couldn’t let that happen. If I got bit, who would save the kids?
Yet, they would walk right up to them and one by one, a half dozen kids were getting bit. I somehow managed to get to a baseball bat and started throwing it at a long black viper. (I think it was a viper) The snake ate it.
Finally, I saw another kid get bit by a snake and I couldn’t take it anymore. It was then I realized I was dreaming and told myself to wake up.
My psychiatrist found it somewhat amusing. Not in the funny ha-ha amusing, more like, interesting amusing. Then again, she seems to find a lot of my doings and dreams amusing. I guess I amuse her.
Anyway, she finally got me to open up more about a couple of things. Not that she hasn’t figured some of it out on her own and by peeking at my blog and such. She is very concerned about my giving up on romance and love. Considering that I have only been trying to find someone for the past five years, even when I wasn’t really looking, I kind of held out the possibility of finding it.
Now, I want nothing at all to do with it.
I could lay the blame on …. I mean … I know why I feel this way. She didn’t. She broke me down and I told her. She looked at me like I was crazy. No shit Sherlock, this is why I am seeing a shrink. LOL
Okay, it’s not that I am crazy, just trying to figure a few things out.
She also wants to study more about my premonitions. I don’t think she has ever had a patient quite like me before. She acknowledged today that she read my books. And that she has snuck in on Goodreads and took a look at my poetry. (She figured out the short story “Head Games” rather quickly. She also thinks I need to cut down on my Goodreads activity.
She might be onto something there.
I never hid the fact that I draw in the crazies. My strongest attractions/relationships were always with girls who had bigger issues than myself. But I ask you, who hasn’t any issues? And for those who are wondering why I am seeing a professional, I have been seeing her since my accident. A near death experience will often times require one to seek some kind of counseling to try and put everything into perspective. Especially when you are dealing with head trauma issues and depression as a result of it. Memory lapses, to name a few.
I did like the dress she was wearing today and that perfume, well …. Okay, head out of the gutter, Carroll. Maybe I should switch to a male doctor? No, I would never open up to a dude. I can only open up to girls. I don’t know why.
She says I am making progress. The only exception to that is this new discovery of anti-relationship. I just want the quick hit. Kind of like when I was twenty years old and whatever. I guess that was cute then, being the player of hearts, but she claims one should grow out of it by the time they hit 35. And I started to get out of it. Then came HER! Months later, I am back to my old ways and very much do not trust anything a girl tells me anymore. Always looking for the knife to strike me at anytime. Of course, when I say that, I am talking about the girls lies being the knife.
I think all girls lie now.
I know on the surface that isn’t true. But I can’t seem to help it right now. Every time a girl says something I start to figuring she making a play. I am always trying to figure out her angle when in truth, many girls may not have anything shady or any angles to play. I can’t help it, SHE has made me this way.
Love versus lust.
This now appears to be my battle. With love, there comes trust and respect. I can do the respect part, but the trust? I don’t think so doc. Then with lust, no strings, no attachments, no promises, just the quick hit and roll. No responsibility what so ever. Nobody gets hurt. Nobody cries. Everybody is happy.
Oh, if only it was so simple.
I guess I write romance so well because it’s how I always imagined it would be. A fantasy that I can take to any level. To write my perfect girls into every story and weave the magical web of love from it. My male characters can be more honest and trusting of the girl where I can’t be. It’s safer for me that way. To spill my dream-like relationships onto paper, or whatever, for the whole world to read. There is no risk of me getting burned in my books. In my stories. No risk of being lied to like I get lied to in real life. No danger of getting hurt, like I got hurt in real life. There’s no big let-down in my fantasies. Just in my reality.
Debbie Gibson was right …. Love! Only in my dreams.