Poetry Friday WORD for tomorrow
Sergei's lucky I didn't punch him this time.*
I had a dream last night, a very real, painful dream, that Sergei was seeing a girl on the side, a 17-year old blonde high-schooler named Beth, who would hide in his closet and come out when I wasn't in the room. All this came out while we were hosting a party for a group of comic book artists. Sergei made me keep quiet. I wanted to scream.
Then the thump of the morning paper hit our front door and I woke up, to find my sweet husband in bed naked next to me. Well, ain't that a kick in the ass. For half a second, I wanted to slap him, but realized it was MY dream, and he was just the innocent, sexy bystander. So I had THAT to deal with this morning. I hatehateHATE that my dreams are getting more and more real as time goes on. Hate. It. Is it hormones? A cumulation of fears set in motion by everything I read in magazines and see on the boob tube and hear from well-meaning, but totally misguided, friends and acquaintances?
The Poetry Friday Word for tomorrow is "FEAR". Use it however you like...show us your belly if you've been afraid to. Go up and chat with that cute guy at the gym and tell us what happened. Try your hand at Grandma's recipe for Double-Triple-Heart-Attack-Chocolate-Chip-Cookies. Write something...draw something...speak something. Go wid it.
(*I did punch him once, after I dreamed that he was enjoying dalliances with some skeezy ho. It wasn't a hard punch. It was reflexive.)