Angela was over again and we were happy for the minute. My parents were there from the dead and from the life. I haven’t seen my dead father since the last time I dreamed he was alive. He had never died in the last one. This time I knew he died and came back over and over. Sometimes I acknowledged he was back from the dead. Like this one. They were mad at me and they kept riding my ass. Angela was there and I didn’t want to say or do anything stupid so of course I did. I started screaming at my parents about all and nothing. When my father started back on me I yelled back.
“Yeah, well you’re the one that keeps coming back from the dead!” I screamed.
Angela was crying. Everything stopped. I felt so bad.
“You know I hate when you yell at your parents. You know I have problems with that.” She said.
Angela walked to my porch as if she was leaving. I kept apologizing to her and turned my head to apologize to my parents. I felt so bad my knees cracked with tears. My bones trembled with fear of loss of what I might have had if only I was a tolerant kinder person. She. She was breaking up with me and I was helpless like in those dreams when I find my self naked in the middle of a department store.
Blink.
Angela and I are at an old movie theater and all is swell. Swollen you can say. I said. No kinks in the love. All smiles whilst holding hands like professional lovers that have been at this game longer than each of us has lived. I catch her catching me catching her looking at me and we laugh until we smell smoke. Someone burnt popcorn I thought. Flames came up through the floors I carried her down the charred rippled weak stairway to uncertainty. She held me tight with a magical look of “if we go down at least it’s together.” We made it just in time as the Fire People squirted. Squirted the last flame out.
Out of nowhere a white man dressed as Jimi Hendrix appears in the lobby as Angela and I are trying to leave the burnt building. It turns out to be my friend Tony and he is with Rolland and Jesse. I didn’t question why he was dressed in his garb or colored face. I accept too many things at face value (no pun intended) too much. Too many times. Like why was I with this beautiful girl as my eternal lover out of the blue pink and red?
“I wonder if I can buy the posters and movie star cut outs in the movie theater?” Rolland asked with no greetings or concern of our health or the fire.
Jesse was silent and patted us on the back with a “it’s going to be ok” vibe.
Skeleton Woman or Things Like Me Don’t Happen To You
Christ it happened again. Another notch in my “girls that want to be my friend” belt. It made sense. We were perfect friends and she was real cute too. I kept thinking that I was ok with it. I’d be happy just being a friend again. I keep turning to God for strength to accept my fate as “Friend to all women” that I’m attracted to. My acceptance level seems to be ok. I go to my happy place. I go to my cave. I say the serenity prayer over and over I am sure that I will be ok with this. Yes I will. (no I won’t)
Cut to a scene from Fight Club
TYLER
Stop it! This is your pain — this is your burning hand. It’s right here! Look at it.
JACK
I’m going to my cave. I’m going to my cave to find my power animal!
TYLER
No, don’t deal with this the way those dead people do. Come on
!
JACK
I get the point, ok, please!
TYLER
No, what you’re feeling is premature enlightenment.
Ok. I get the idea. Feel the pain. Feel the hurt. Feel the rejection saturating my heart until I bleed more than just these words all over the place and finger my open sore of a brain as it wants to dwell on her over and over again. Screaming and roaring her name with anger and grief and sometimes a slight relief that it’s done and I know that she will not reject me again unless I go back for more and more or less or a little bite of her cheeseburger and a sip of her Pepsi to tide me over until the next one comes along with better food and spirits for my, for me for. Four scores of seven years itch as I scratch the weathered tired out mongrel of an ego that was left stray years ago in a pound for wayward hearts and letches that can only love and never be loved.
The pain of being a friend. A friend. I’ve heard that “Let’s just be friends” millions of times in my life as I gargle a new mouthwash and toothpaste hoping my breath will be the answer to my problem. My problem is as follows: me, myself and I. We altogether are the problem. We want to be loved so bad that we give off the vibe that scares the shit out of women so they just want to be friends. Friends. Friends. I think to myself that will be fine. Friends is ok. It’ll do. I can accept that. Bullshit! Feel the pain I tell myself. Embrace it. the pain is your friend. To hurt is to be alive. I’ve never been so alive. I’m alive. So alive.
“Did you ever hear about the skeleton woman?” Morton asked.
“Was that a Glam rock band from the seventies?” I ask.
“Ha. Ha. Nah. It’s an ancient Indian story. This guy was fishing in the middle of a lake. He was totally into it. He was relaxed. Not a care in the world except catching the next fish. All of a sudden he feels a tug on his line and he yanks it up. A skeleton appears on his line. He doesn’t realize that it’s attached to his line and he gets scared. He starts paddling his boat away from it but it follows him. He still doesn’t realize that it’s attached to his line. He gets out of his boat and runs into the village and he is carrying his fishing rod and the skeleton is still right behind him. He jumps into his Tee Pee and it follows him in. He lies down and tries to hide not looking at it for a while. When he finally turns to look at the skeleton it has changed into the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She is his. The moral of the story is that he was minding his own business doing something he enjoyed and that’s when the right woman came along. In other words when you are not looking for love is when it will find you. ”
“I know that but it’s so fucking hard to stay focused on other things without thinking about how much I want to be loved. Fall in love. Ya know?” I responded.
“I know. I know.” Morton said.
“We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.” Tyler Durden
I felt her tongue in my mouth and I was the happiest man on earth. To kiss her was a dream come true. My Guardian Angel kissed me.
It started on some sort of shopping spree and she was taking me to different places buying me things and holding my hand and I was confused because she wasn’t in her guardian angle form. Not that she ever is. I call her my guardian angel because she has lead me away from negative situations and helped me out in previous dreams. She is based on a real girl I know in her mid-late 20s that I rarely talk to and see online once in a while. I named her Carmella the first time I wrote about her in a blog titled Dream Girl is my Guardian Angel but her name is Bailey. She won’t read this and if so . . . well I’ll deal with or not then.
So Bailey is taking me to familiar and unfamiliar places and we are happy. I felt the way I used to feel when I was on vacations with previous girlfriends during the courting or just past the courting stage. In the back of my head I was confused. First of all, she has a boyfriend and it seems they’ve been together since high school. She would rarely give me the time of day in real life. Not to say she was or is a snob. She just never had a reason to talk to me. I’ve admired her from afar. I also didn’t know where were in the dream. It felt like Philadelphia and New York with a touch of San Francisco. Maybe my writing about hanging out with a few girls in San Francisco in my next novel is rubbing off into my dreams.
We ended up kissing on the sidewalk wherever we were. Heavy making out. I felt her tongue hit my tonsils and loved it. I haven’t had a kiss like that in almost 2 years. We hugged and then hurried to our hotel room. In the dream I went with it as if I knew there was a room. I settled in the room and saw her take her clothes off and she came to me again and kissed me wearing her white bra and panties. I was still in shock and thrilled to realize it was a dream. It was more real than being awake. She was dressed again. And I followed her outside to the sidewalk. Her boyfriend was there and she looked at me in a way I knew she was going to give him another goodbye talk. Then she took him into my room at a new house and we were no longer at the hotel.
I let them have their time. I was overall confident that Bailey was mine but still was anxious for him to leave. It reminded me of when I dated a married woman that was separated and the 3 of us hung out. I walked into the living room and it was a combination of a few houses I’ve lived and my aunt and uncle’s house in Michigan. My grandmother was alive and there with aunts and uncles and cousins. My blood relatives and my adopted relatives were all there. I was so distracted by having my fantasy girl, my dream girl after going so long without love I had trouble enjoying my family. Everyone was talking to me. Someone said that I was going to miss my flight home. I thought I was home and Bailey and her boyfriend were in her my bedroom. I felt love in the room but I wanted the love in the bedroom, forgetting Bailey has appeared as my guardian angel in the past.
I thought of her kiss, closed my eyes and smiled. I woke up and it was only 11 pm. I felt happy for some reason even though I never resolved anything in the lucid dream. It will come to me. It always does.
I haven’t been quite right for the past few days. I have never been quite right but the past few days my sleep and emotions have been a little screwed up. I have some vivid dreams quite frequently and even more vivid when I’m feeling screwier than usual. For about the last 6 months I’ve been having a girl I know appear at least 3 or 5 times a week.
In real life I barely know the girl. I know her from when I was going to the 12 step meetings. Beautiful young lady that I’d see once a week and maybe say hi to her now and then. I never had a conversation with her. Eventually, we friended on facebook because we have so many “friends” in common. Still didn’t talk. Once in a while I’ve looked at her profile but since she’s shown no interest in me I never made a big deal about her in my mind.
So, this girl I’ll call Carmella because I like that name, appears in many of my dreams and it doesn’t matter the theme or involvement. She’s played major parts where we have a relationship. She’s appeared as a background character at parties, meetings and moving dreams. We’ve been friends, lovers and just associates that wave or say hi. I can’t remember the details of the dreams just her appearances.
I did manage to remember the dream I woke up from this morning. Yes, I actually woke up in the morning again. I was a party with various people I’ve known for years. I was having a decent time and Carmella came up and whispered that it was time to leave in my ear and walked away. I kept talking to another friend for a few more minutes and she came back. She grabbed my arm and said let’s go. All I knew is that she was my ride in the dream. I woke up before we went anywhere. I woke up with the feeling that she was leading me somewhere safe. Or maybe she was leading me to wake up because I had things to do.
I don’t think about Carmella that often. She does kind of haunt me the day after I dream about her. Most of the time I haven’t analyzed her presence in my dreams. Today I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I think there is a reason. I’m not usually a dream analyzer or analyst but I’ve come to the conclusion that my dream girl is my guardian angel. She is protecting me somehow for some reason.
For a moment I thought about telling her about it but came to my senses pretty fast. Imagine a girl in her mid 20s getting a message telling her she stars in a guy in his mid 40s dreams a few times a week and it means something to him.
I’ll just keep to myself who she is and let her keep guarding me from whatever and enjoy my dreams.
I’m a controlled mess. I’m a bomb about to blow yet I have the combination to diffuse. Controlled mess. I stare at the empty walls of my confused living room and it looks away. I dwell in my creative constipated exploding head and my heart pounds. Aches serge through my face. An electrical current. Powerful yet it’s nothing compared to my damaged emotions. When the lightning strikes all I am left with is a limp tired soul determined to grow up and destined to cure my “self imposed mediocrity”.
I’m a controlled mess. I toss and turn on the couch, the floor, the bed and even the toilet in a state of high-wired corrosive depression. My dreams and ideas of conquering the world while my body and mind is melting into the present. I’m infected. I’m a controlled mess.
Fighting myself is a losing battle sometimes so I stop fighting and go with it. Go with the pain, anguish, and let go. I’m a controlled mess. It works for a time and I fight again and I almost win then I let go. No winners or losers just a controlled mess. Settling for the best is the worst I could do. I do.
Keep me at arms length as I keep you at bay at a distance of mental crookedness. Don’t love me. Don’t even like me. Not until I do. Not until I understand me and what’s going on. What’s going on? I’m a controlled mess.
I know the facts. I’ve examined them and read about them and researched them. I know the feelings as they repeat my truth and my lies. Life changes. People change. You change. I change. Can you spare some change for a tired old man with dreams of . . . .? Something. Maybe I’ll tell you sometime. Maybe I told you too much. I’m a controlled mess.
A new document. When I open my Word program to start writing or open an old document sometimes the program forces me tochoose “open new document.” It’s like a sign that I should be writing something new. With each new document I am starting over in a sense. It at least gives me the opportunity to start over. I am tempted to compare it to life. Each new day is a new document. I have a choice to open it and start new or go back to old documents and finish or dwell on what’s past.
As in real life I choose to ignore the chance to start fresh and go back into my old documents and try and finish writings that are either obsolete or are going nowhere. Hmmm.. Just like my life.
Here I am choosing to start my new document I find myself unsure of where I am going to go. Hmmm. Just like life. I put my nose to the proverbial grind stone and my shoulder to the wheel and move forward.
Being a writer is not a choice for me anymore. It’s like my other roles in life. My illnesses, my addictions, etc. I loose the choice of what I am bit I can make the proper changes to adjust to new situations. Ooooooo. I am such a deep dude. *sarcastic laughter under my breath*
I make choices every day against my better judgment. I know right form wrong and times out of 10 I choose the wrong. I know I can learn from my mistakes and I choose not to on a daily basis. Ironically it all catches up to me and I change and I grow against my own will. I make better choices slowly and move forward to the next level of my life even slower.
I used to have these delusional fantasies about tomorrow when I was younger. “Tomorrow is the day I am going to wake up and be completely different. I am going to cut my hair, shave, get that perfect job, fid that perfect love and make the start of my new life.” Every day I’d wake up and put it off until tomorrow. It’s different now.
Everyday, for the most part, I get up and take it as it comes and try and do one thing different. Just one thing. As easy as it sounds it can be a struggle as well.
I believe in slow change now. I believe that life changing events and rude awakenings don’t last. I’ve found this to be true personally. I’ve had a lot of my delusional “epiphanies” and then I go back to the old me somewhere along the line. The real changes and growth periods, the ones that stick come from daily maintenance and in baby steps. One little thing at a time. I don’t think I’d want it any other way at this point.
I’ve gone through a major transformation the past few years and it was slow and sometimes painful. Someone asked me after a book reading I did the other day “what would I change in my past if I had a choice?” I can honestly say “not one thing.” I know how I am now. I don’t know what I would have been like otherwise. I’ll take now.
I can accept my daily choice of a “new document” or finishing an old one. It’s my choice and I know from the bottom of my heart that I’m going to be ok either way.
Hmmm.. This is no longer a new document. How about that?
Posted by richhillenjr 
Rich Hillen Jr's Mind Explosions & Implosions 
Bagel and Cream Cheese
June 18, 2012Bagels and cream cheese at the end of my street
Comical caravans drive by my feet
Stick it to man and I get stabbed in the back
Ain’t no lovin for me just quite yet
The edge of the park is a nice place to rest
Light a mouthful of grass- the fresh picked best
Share it with the children and get poked with a stick
Ain’t no lovin for me quite just yet
Light three candles at the corner Catholic Church
For the three that I love who never got the hearst
My Sunday best clothes melt a holy water scam
Ain’t no lovin for me quietly quite yet
Oh driver oh driver do drive me away
Far from this level of the story I am stuck
Where the joke has no punch line
And I don’t give a skunk
Ain’t no love for me until I am ready you
Not just quite yet
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