I had a long involved dream that I had a boyfriend. He was wonderful, and in fact he was extra wonderful, because he had signs posted in his bedroom of what he did and did not expect from a woman, and what he was prepared to give and not give. The signs were large, and some of them were in a sort of symbol code, so that instead of words there was a simplified black picture of a tire and an air pump and a smiley face, because he was totally okay with fixing his girlfriend's flat tires. I was overjoyed by these signs because I felt like at last here was a relationship where there would be no murkiness: everything was spelled out. He was handsome, too, and loving and sweet, and he had two adorable kids. Then, of course, I woke up.
Sidenote: this may not be the best time of the month for me to go be a disaster volunteer. This is the time of the month where I get kind of weepy and my feelings get hurt easily and then there are the slight bursts of fury.
So I was thinking about this dream and wishing I would meet this guy but knowing better (I never meet the men in my dreams. Witness Mick Jagger, who I've dreamed about any number of times beginning at about age 14) and then I thought, gee, it has been 6 whole months since I, well, you know. Did it. It's probably about time for me to meet someone for a drunken nights worth of incoherent alcoholic fumbling, followed by a morning when he can't get away from me quick enough and never speaks to me again, followed by a week of angst, increasing guilt, self loathing and shame. Ooooh, I can hardly wait!
Told you it was that time of the month.