|Why am I hiding behind TAB? Because he’s the pretty one |
who won’t break the camera. THAT’S why!
I dreamt that The Amazing Bob was still alive (this was NOT the horrifying part). In fact, it was ten years down the road and he was in his 80s (which’d put me in my 60s, just FYI). We were living in an apartment in Brighton, the Boston neighborhood where we first lived. His health was poor but, with help, he didn’t need to be in a nursing home. Ya know, just like in real life.
In this nightmare though, I was so very weary of caring for him that I decided to leave – actually jump fucking ship!!! What an asshole! I was in the process of moving in with an old beau who was newly single and fancy-free. While appalled with my choice, I was also defensive – I deserve a full life too, I snitted like some petulant princess.
The new apartment with Leon had just a small kitchen with shallow cupboards. When I went to put all my mugs and plates away, I found that every last bit of space was taken up with Leon’s prescription med bottles and packages. ALL of it. He looked absolutely healthy as hell – tan, fit and, apparently, in his 30s not 60s – but this was wholly due to better living through chemistry. His brill habitus was, essentially, a thin, if magnificently fabola, illusion.
|Big Foot Boy|
Also like in our eons ago, real life romance, even when home, Leon was there but not really. He was always absorbed with his work (Leon was a big science guy) or his myriad chums. Though he def cared for me, I wasn’t his center. In the present dream-day, versus all those decades past, I could see that Leon had big feelings for me – I was important to him. I didn’t mind so much that he was always a bit distracted. Still though (and this is the big fat deal breaker), he wasn’t TAB.
We spoke on the phone and would get together on the coming weekend. I had hope.
And then Rocco landed on my head with all four of his big feets. Time for brekkie and pats, woman! PHEW!
In wakey-wake world, when TAB was still here with me, I wished, mightily, that his health was better but I can’t say that I ever once resented the care he needed OR thought of leaving. Nope. Not once. I was thinking of having a visiting nurse come in once a week – more often when I took a little trips. But then pneumonia, his dicky ticker and the revived, rampaging cancer did him him.
I don't understand last night's wretched nightmare. Why have this now?