Last night I dreamt of being injured, my abdomen sliced open, organs hanging out. The doctors began a repair but only gave me local anesthetic, then started talking about how there was no chance I was going to make it, as if I were really under general anesthesia. I writhed on the table, tried to get them to understand that I was in pain, and they just calmly held me down.
Then, for some reason, I was in surgery again, to fix the mess that hadn't been completed before. They put me under general anesthesia and did the job right. I remember waking up to an attractive female surgeon in scrubs, and seeing out the window behind her the light blue sky, bright sun, tiny wispy clouds...They told me I was in Afghanistan. Right.
Later on, I was out getting lost in the snow, trying to get to a farm where they supposedly had a stray Kai dog (a smallish asian breed). When I got to the 'farm,' the dog was there, beaten and starved, but with the most amazing shining almost metallic gold coat. It turned out that the dog wasn't a stray, and the husband was regularly beating the hell out of it. They had skinny horses and cows too, and there wasn't a fucking thing I could do about it.
At least my dreams don't portray some sort of feeling of powerlessness or anything.
One of the medications I take is specifically to help get rid of my nightmares. Somehow, I don't think it's working. It's been almost two months, and I'm having maybe even more nightmares than before, probably because the drug helps me sleep better. Stupid drugs.
I took the stitches out of my knee today. The incisions are more or less healed, and I don't feel like taking time off of work to have the PA wrench my knee around a little, snip out two stupid sutures, then charge my insurance company a couple hundred dollars. I'm just sick of that shit. I can take care of this myself. Stubborn? You bet your ass. Though I'd never survive in the wild.
My life isn't really that bad, when I look at it from through Vicodin-colored glasses. I have a decent apartment that I rather like, four sweet and insane cats, two dogs that I mostly like, a car that is more or less in working order, a supportive (yet insane) family, and a few really great friends. Nevermind that my friends don't really have faces, to me. But right now, I don't have love. I thought I was getting somewhere with D, but it's starting to seem like all the rest. I may be able to get to him if I work really hard at it, but if I walk away, he's not going to come after me. And, well, fuck that. I don't need that sort of relationship. I've had ten fucking years of that. I don't understand why the guys that I like end up not being all that interested in me, yet the guys I don't care for think they're in love with me. I really must have been a professional puppy-smasher in a previous life.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe D will come back, tell me he cares, be more attentive. Yet it really seems the death rattle of a relationship when I don't feel like I'm getting enough out of it and we haven't even met yet. I'm too crazy for this shit. I'm too needy for what he seems willing to give. If it's just that he's scared of being hurt...good job, man. You've hurt me instead.