There’s no way to say this without sounding like those Facebook posts dripping in sentimentality. You know the ones “My boyfriend is the best! He totally didn’t check out our waitress while he was taking me out to Applebee’s!” They’re terrible and probably a coverup for something rotten in Denmark. However, to put this post into context I have to explain that things with Mr. Man are pretty solid. I don’t have to rifle through his things, ask permission to leave the house, or beg him to tell me I’m pretty. I know, I know, stop bragging already.
This lack of relationship trouble is important only because I’ve been dreaming up terrible, heart wrenching betrayals and slights. Not day dreaming or making myself crazy with speculation. But nights interrupted with visions of cheating, divorce and shouting matches dancing through my head.
My perfectly innocent husband (side note: is there a word for husband that doesn’t make me sound like a mommy blogger? Thesaurus.com suggests "consort." I think I like it) has committed irreversible sins in my dream state. He’s cheated with countless women, many of whom are strippers. He’s packed up and moved to a new city without so much as a “see ya.” He’s divorced me for talking to male friends. In short, he’s taken on the characteristics of an amalgam of the requisite douches I’ve dated.
I have very little idea where these nightly brain concoctions come from, but I have to imagine it’s my subconscious making up for the lack of crazy in my life now. A reaction to a psyche that had to adapt to some terrible relationships perhaps? A desperate attempt to create new blog topics? A chance to contrast that deep sinking feeling I used to get when my (in)significant other was being awful to the irritated twitch I feel when my consort doesn’t appreciate how much I clean the kitchen? (Damn. I’ve become a cliche.)
After doing some totally scientific research, it seems I can rest easy knowing he’s not actually cheating on me. I’m just an emotionally broken person who is terrified of being abandoned. Phew. What a relief.
That doesn’t mean these invasive nocturnal thoughts come with no consequence. A couple years ago this study was floating around the interwebz; passed along by us sensitive types. We used it as validation when we made our partners pay for their dream mistakes.
Even though I understand how ridiculous it is to make someone suffer for something their likeness did in my brainspace, I still inadvertently let it impact the way I treat my consort. I tend to be colder and more distant the day after I dream catch him with his hand in The Cookie Jar (that’s the name of one of the strippers).
I relay his misdeeds to him when I awake, so he can prepare for whatever the day may bring. But mostly so he can do that thing where he tells me I’m pretty again. He handles it all in stride, but seriously, how is that fair?
I’ve already graduated from therapy, so in theory I should be fixed. But these dreams are hellishly persistent and incendiary. It likely doesn’t help that I consume trash media like this, this, and this.
So, I’m either going to have to stop watching Vanderpump Rules or listen to advice from this guy. I’m not sure which is more tragic. Wikihow may actually be more reliable than the latter, anyway.
I don’t really have a resolution for this post (hence resorting to Dr. Phil jokes). I had another relationship nightmare last night, so I clearly have no idea how to resolve it,yet. I’m essentially trying to address it in the way I’ve taken care of my real life relationship issues in the past. By writing about it. Maybe if I put it in words and tell the world (or the seven people who read this blog) how absurd I am, I'll manage to achieve the same level of perspective I got when I wrote this post.
Which is to say: Dude, your life is not that tragic. Stop creating problems out of imaginary things. You’ll figure out something else to blog about. Like other people’s problems.
In related news check back next week when I’ll list all the reasons my friends’ relationships are broken. And then the week after that I’ll talk about how I don’t have any friends. The content cycle feeds itself!