Dream: I am in the old diner on mainstreet of my home town with the lady who owned it when I was a child. She is exhausted from running the place herself and having a hard time making a financial go of it. Costly repairs are needed – she shows me around the kitchen and the store room in the back – a cooler needs a door, and so on. I think maybe I could walk over in the afternoons and help her out.
Dream: Fella has another girlfriend, younger than me, and has told me he wants his candles back –- there are two that are his and not mine – and as I sort through our two bedrooms I set his out for him, and leave him an extra one besides, as I don’t need them all. I feel very downhearted.
Dream: Again I’m at the diner, beginning to work there, and sad that Fella and I will no longer be together. I notice an upright piano, a lovely golden brown, next to the front counter and go over to try it out. It sounds beautiful and I play a short melody by ear, surprised that my fingers know what keys to hit. Then I find one key makes no sound and needs repair, and other keys start not working either and I figure out that I need to give the “bellows” time to refill with air, like perhaps an organ would do. A group of snowmobilers comes thundering through the front door and I think “It won’t be so bad to be single again,” as if it opens up some new spaces for me to live in.
But when I wake up, I am upset, and as I hear Fella in the kitchen I get out of bed and tell him about the middle dream. He makes light of it (so how much younger women should I be looking at?) and goes to sit on the loveseat in the living room while I make a pot of coffee and, for a moment, feel I am going to cry. It takes me by surprise, quite powerfully, but passes quickly. I go sit next to him but he is busy with the TV and his laptop and grinning at the little dog that has leapt up to snuggle between us and I look out the window and feel resigned to the notion that Fella and I, while comfortable enough together most of the time, may never engage each other intimately again.
Recently I was talking to my ex about our current relationships (he has been courting a woman for about seven months, not kissed or slept with her yet, but for Xmas bought her an expensive airline ticket to go visit a sister she hasn’t seen in many years) and said that in spite of being so often pissed off at Fella, I’m content to be here about 95% of the time. My ex, as he can do sometimes, hit the nail on the head perhaps when he responded with “Yeah but he’s not there 95% of the time.”