I wrote a few interesting things that I don’t feel like developing right now into something more than what they are, so I’m just going to put them here for the record:

I dreamed of you again last night.

You asked me if I was happy, which surprised me. “Of course,” I responded. “My life is a good one, I do the things I want and rarely want for anything. When I do want something, I work for it and basically always get what I want. In other words,” here I smiled at you, “I’ve picked up where you left off in spoiling me.”

You didn’t smile back, just a small frown that left me worried I’d gone too far in stating what was obvious to everyone when I was growing up; you’d doted on me, even favored me and definitely spoiled me. But instead of mentioning that, you said, “I worry that you are spending too much time working to achieve my dreams for you, and not enough on achieving your own dreams for you.”

I consider this for a moment. It’s true that my dreams have never included attaining a degree, nor going to graduate school, but these don’t seem like unworthwhile goals. They put a purpose to my life, where one previously floated out of reach (or one that I would deem worthy enough to share with people without feeling an ounce of shame). To be honest, I’ve always planned on quitting at this point, and my closest friends – people for whom I feel the utmost respect, people who are incredibly intelligent, talented, and seriously have it all together (or project the facade they do, anyway, ha) – asked me what I would do after I quit. “I dunno,” I would shrug. “Write, I guess. Get married. Have kids. You know.”

The more I think about this, school was always the obvious choice. I almost wish I’d realized that sooner, started this crazy trek towards self-betterment involving 18 hour days, 2 hour commutes, all of this craziness sooner, because then I’d be that much closer to done. I’d be that much closer to saying “Yeah, that period of time in my life really sucked, but it’s over.” But I didn’t, and here I am, just over a month away from finishing this hellish semester of too-long commutes, not enough time for myself, my dog, my friends, my relationship, my family. I am clinging on to the last shred of sanity I can claim to own, and even that is slowly slipping away.

With that shred… I almost don’t even want to go to Vegas this weekend. Don’t want to go to Vegas?! Vegas is one of my favorite domestic cities! I didn’t go last year, which is a horrible tragedy for me, and yet here I am, almost not looking forward to it.

You look on at me while I go over all of this in my mind, and you begin to look amused. I stare defiantly at you, and declare, “School is the answer. I’m not going to school for you anymore. It’s for me. It’s for MY future, of which you are sadly no longer a living part. There isn’t any other option, it just is the next step on this path.”

You laugh, and we continue walking, this time with rainboots on (I’ve never seen you wear rainboots…), umbrellas up, holding hands once again, despite my being a grown woman of 28 and the fact that we’re holding separate umbrellas. My sleeve is getting wet, and any other time, any other person, I’d pull away. I hate getting wet. Why are we even walking outside?

As I realize these things, as always, reality begins to intrude and it dawns on me that this is just another dream. You’re not talking to me, or walking with me, and these things will never happen again, except in my dreams. I hesitate, and you look down at me (down at me? at 5’8, I tower over you!), smile and whisper something. I lean closer, but I can’t hear you.

You repeat yourself, “The secret to always getting your way is to make them think it was their idea in the first place.” Something Mom always tells me I need to learn when it comes to my relationships. Something I know to be true. Something I don’t understand why you are saying this now.

But as you fade away, and the sun of reality penetrates my eyelids, I realize you have, once again, gotten your way.

You’re a tricky one, Dad. Very tricky indeed.

It is pouring rain outside.  Though outwardly, I curse the skies on days like this, I secretly like this sort of weather – if I can remain indoors for most of it.  I prefer it to be a day when I don’t even have to go outside (except to walk the dog, poor girl), but a day like today is almost just as well.  Go to work, go home.  Except today is a gym day, so I’m sure to be annoyed when it’s time to walk the half mile to the gym, avoiding puddles and trying not to be attacked by other people’s umbrellas.  But… close to perfect.  Close. 

The rain pouring down with the window opened just a crack while I lie in bed: that is the setting for a perfect night of sleep for me.  Not a crazy hurricane storm; just pouring straight down, those late summer nights that are humid and then the skies open up, the rain comes down hard, but straight down, you can keep your windows wide open if you choose, and all you can hear is the sound of the rain falling.  It soothes and makes my sleep come quickly, deeply, soundly.  I love those nights.

As I’m picturing it now, I feel myself slip into the bed; pull back the covers and lie down.  I always have my down comforter on the bed, even in the summer, because I am one of those people who feels like it cools me down and keeps me warm, depending on my need.  The night is hazy, I turn off the lights and stand between the wall and the bed, listening to the rain fall, listen to the small sounds of the night; my dog shifting in her sleep, getting more comfortable before I climb into bed with her and adjust her position so that she lies curled up against my chest.  The rain.  The rain like a faucet turned on, forgotten, but soothing. 

I pull back the covers and lie down, this time with the lights off.  I slip into a deep slumber, one where you wouldn’t think you’d dreamt, but you have.  You just don’t remember it because the sleep was that good.

I dream I’m walking towards you, and you’re smiling.  You hold your hand out, and I take it even though I’m a grown woman of 28, and we turn and walk through the field of flowers.  Magical flowers, because your allergies aren’t acting up.  You’re breathing fine and we smile and laugh and chat about everything life has thrown at us.  I update you on my life, because even though you’ve been watching, you can’t possibly know how I’d word things if you were here and I could tell you what was going on and where life had really taken me, places that neither of us ever even considered in the realm of my choices and opportunities when I was younger and you were still here. 

I tell you how happy I am, and how even though things haven’t turned out quite the way I thought or you wanted, it is a good thing because it has all led me to be who I am today.  And that person is a happy person, with sure, her down moments, but an incredibly upbeat outlook in life, and … well, you can’t know how sweet a rainbow is until you’ve tasted rain first, yes? 

All too soon, you’re telling me it’s time for you to go, and that we must do this again sooner than it’s been since the last time we talked at length, and I try to say, “We’ve never talked like this before,” but you just smile and hug me and something is wrong because this isn’t how it was, this is never how our relationship was, and you just shake your head and laugh that I could never accept things at face value, could I? and you turn and walk down a bit until I can’t see you anymore and then…

I wake gently, easily, and it’s morning.  The rain has stopped, and the sun is shining, and I’m smiling but I don’t know why.  I feel refreshed, light, and I think how I slept so deeply, I don’t think I’ve dreamt. 

I don’t think I’ve dreamt… but later that day, while doing something completely unrelated, your memory, faded, blurry around the edges, and completely out of focus, pops into my head, and a dull ache forms. 

I miss you, Daddy.  It has never gotten easier, and I’m not sure it ever will.

Xanga was just down (for me, not sure if it was worldwide) for 2 minutes, so I clicked to the Wiki for Xanga and discovered that I’ve been with Xanga since before they even had 40k members.

I suddenly realize the magnitude of my being a member since September 2001.

I am seriously old school Xanga.

Wiki has a really interesting timeframe of evolution for Xanga.

And John?  Are you really an Xceptionally Awesome Ninja GangstA or is that urban legend?

o_O