Home on the Brain

I have been having strange dreams. This is not unusual as I generally have strange dreams. Drug dealers chasing me through windows and shooting at me while I’m climbing down trees. Basement labyrinths thorough which I must escape before the drug dealer/killers find me and fill me with holes. There are lots of drug dealers in my dreams, and tonight, I will try not to read into that. The last couple of weeks, however, my dreams have been super strange, so much so that I wake up feeling confused and bewildered.

I also wake up next to a pile of clothes instead of my partner. I wake up looking at red walls instead of sunshine. I wake up alone. And I fight the feeling that it’s completely unnecessary.

My partner and I separated at the beginning of March. We had been having problems which quickly escalated into insurmountable fear and panic. I decided to leave because that is what I do. I leave. I remove myself, the problem, the constant, ridiculous, emotional problem, from the equation, in hopes that the other person will then say 1. “Gosh, I’m so much happier that so and so is gone”, and just fucking dump me already or, 2. “Shit, maybe so and so wasn’t so bad”, and then they’ll quit acting like a stupid, insecure jerk. It’s hardly ever one of those outcomes, but I try. This time, I left and then changed my mind, as I have every right to do;I wanted to come home. My partner, on the other hand, was not having it. She said, no way, Jose, you stay right where you are. And so here we are.

Except it no longer feels like a separation. It feels like I’m sleeping and showering elsewhere. That’s it. I’m at our house almost every day. Hardly a day goes by where we don’t see each other. And yet, I wake up at a friend’s house, fighting with my t-shirts and jeans for the covers. It would be comical, really, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s so incredibly sad.

Tonight, I wanted to stay home. And when I want to stay home, generally, I get up and leave. That’s the point of a separation, right? To be separate. But instead of feeling like a worthwhile endeavor, a thing which is helping me grow and be stronger, I feel like I’m taking general education classes. Someone’s telling me to take them because they think they’re in my best interest, but I’m looking at the syllabi fully aware that they’re not going to be useful to me worth shit in the long run.

Perhaps this is my cynicism talking right now. I have, after all, had two bean, cabbage and sweet potato tacos and a smidge of Tequila Rose. Perhaps I’m just carb drunk. Talking out of my ass.

Or perhaps, I’m trying to make sense of a process that doesn’t make sense to me. I’m trying to rationalize why I’m here in this great, big house sitting in the dark and quiet when I should be at home instead. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those people who are petrified of being alone. I am an only child, I grew up alone. I actually prefer being alone many times. But I feel like I should be home.

I’m tired of the strange dreams. I’m tired of the wrestling matches and waking up with a crink in my neck. I’m tired of waking up wanting to reach for my lover and find nothing but air. I’m tired of dreaming.

Eventually, I will be back home, and this nightmare will end. Until then, I will eat less tacos after 8 pm and pray that my Levis and white tanks can understand the concept of joint fucking property.


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