I’ve been having crazy dreams. I guess I’m hormonal because I do have weird dreams at different times of the month. The other night I dreamed that Jon Stewart told me he was in love with me and wanted to leave his wife for me. As my daughter texts,
I love Jon Stewart. I think he is hilarious and he is on most days the place I prefer to get my news, but I’ve never thought about him that way. Until now. Now I blush when I see him on TV. What does this mean? In my dream, he bought me a house next door to his (with his wife) and we had a forbidden love. I was renovating this house of shame and lo and behold what did I find in the basement but a tiny pack of reindogs. They could be harnessed up to pull me in a cardboard box all over the night skies. They looked like 4 small goldendoodles and their names were Dancer, Prancer, Gus and Octavia.
“Let’s go you evil homewrecker!”
I woke up exhausted and wanting to binge watch The Daily Show.
I haven’t seen Al in 3 weeks, so don’t judge. I’m flying up to visit him late on Christmas Day and coming back New Years Day. That will sort out a whole lotta my head shit pretty damn quick. I miss him and his tall, hard body. I always forget the tallness of him when we have these long stretches between visits. It’s like, over time, he shrinks a bit. I’ve called it the fade here before, how he fades on me but there is also a shrinkage factor. He is really going to love this post, what with Jon Stewart and now shrinkage. (Sorry if you read this, my love. I will redeem myself below.) I maintain I was always a terrible candidate for a long distance relationship.
End of Disclaimer***
Anyway, where was I, oh yes, the day my dreams died. So, later that same day, which was already weird because I was weirdly attached to the reindogs and ashamed of myself with Mrs. Stewart, I got a text from a very, very good friend.
“OMG, your old house is in the Ikea ad in today’s paper!”
And there it was, a 1/2 page photo of the house we sold to move into the nest when our marriage was falling apart with the words IKEA is HOME splashed across the front.
This is not the ad, this is not the house, but it is a close representation.
IKEA IS HOME. Ikea is home alright.
It made me sick. Like, crying in the bathroom sick. I showed Merlot and she was also sick.
My mom called me to say, “The old house is the IKEA AD in the paper! I’m crying sick.”
( Just to show you that I am from a long line of hysterics).
Stanley and I bought that house together. We renovated that house together. It was a foreclosure when we bought it and there were holes in the walls and the light fixtures had been all taken. We lovingly picked out period fixtures and restored her to her former glory. We refinished the floors and I mopped up the dirt covering the old tile on my hands and knees. It was pretty in there y’all. Merlot was born when we lived there. We were happy there. Then miserable there.
I responded to my friend that it made me sad. She said it made her sad too.
Exact text conversation below with rational friend.
Me: “I’m questioning my whole life.”
Friend: “No, better days are ahead, that house just represented “the dream” to you…. You have a new, more realistic dream to look forward to!”
Me: “Case in point. I sent the exact same text with a photo of the ad to both Stanley and Al. Both responded immediately. Stanley texted back and said, “ha ha.” Al texted back, “I’m sorry, Honey.” He just knew it made me sad. Stanley totally missed it. Thanks for what you said about it representing the dream.”
Friend: ” Whaaa? Ya, that’s the difference between them. So, house, or Al? House? Al? That’s a no-brainer.”
Me: “But it was a GREAT photo of the DREAM. Whaaaaa.”
Friend: “We need a Christmas libation.”
Me: “Hell yes.”
Since my divorce, I’ve grieved, I’ve cried, I’ve laughed, I’ve loved again. Rinse and repeat. Does the grieving ever stop? Yes, I have a new dream, a better more personally fulfilling dream, yet still, I still remember the old one and all the old hopes and feelings.
Merry Fucking Christmas, Ikea.