Last night, I had a dream that my sweetie (more on that term of endearment later) and I were attending a professional wrestling style event at an outdoor festival of some sort, complete with food stands. I haven't been able to stomach the `sport' since third grade or so, and she's downright hostile towards that form of entertainment. Anyway, there was some large vicious person fighting a Hulk Hogan-esque individual, the former resembling the first form of Ogre from Tekken 3... only not green and with more firepower. I remember my sweetie walking off to get some food and/or drink, and the large villain entering the area. For some reason (as if it were real... pro wrestling I mean) I remember feeling concerned for my sweetie's safety, as he walked in down a path perpendicular to the path the stall was on. He entered the main arena, which looked more like a Bangkok-style knife fight pit than anything else, and threatened the crowd with various heavy ordinance. He fired off a grenade launcher, tossing a smoke grenade that covered the area, saying the next one would be explosive unless he got a good fight. At this point, my sweetie returned with some sustenance, and sat with me at a booth. I noticed mrfantasy and his wife were sitting at the booth next to ours, and we talked for a bit. Odd.
The night before that, I dreamed that I had killed someone. It was just a random person, one of those people in your dreamworlds that isn't based off a specific person and doesn't resemble anyone that you know. The killing was very easy, a snapping of the arm and neck, and it was to prevent something bad from occuring... that much I remember. I remember feeling horrible for taking a life, horrible for the repurcussions for the act that would face me, and being scared of having to pull off a crime. Exploring the Hall of Sciences, I finally found some hydrochloric acid, which I tried to use to burn the body. Eventually I found some `Pit Of Animosity' style construct, where I dumped the body. The skin, clothing, and hair quickly melted away... but the bones were a bit more stubborn. At this point I was wondering how long it would take someone to notice the melting skeleton at the bottom of the pit, picturing the look on their face as they fished it up. I hoped it would take some time, and not get connected back to me.
As to the `sweetie' thing. I refer to my s.o. as `sweetie' because, as I've mentioned earlier, she doesn't want her name used. This doesn't mean that we're together at the moment I call her `sweetie', it is the name that I have chosen to use to respect her privacy. She refers to me as `The Boy' in her online journal, and while I hate not being incredibly open, I respect her wishes.
She's back from Chicago, wounded, but had a great time. The Saturday that she kicked me out of her house, I had a good chat with her brother's girlfriend, comiserating about how unstable and irritable that family can be. I still love her dearly, but apparently she's of the urge to just write two years off and walk away... And she even writes that she decided it after the most inane of arguments. Of course, she thinks it was me who freaked out and thus must end it. Of course, I feel that she freaked out (it was my hand being pulled open, my skin being dug into by nails, my bottle being yanked away, my level-headed calm voice asking her to calm down and listen for a moment, my subjective view of reality) and thus needs to calm down. Not to belittle her opinions, of course. They're valid. Things are not perfect. I just thought we were on a road to a good place, with lots of great ideas and gestures and possibilties for eternal bliss. But that's how it always is. Right before we do something major, something that could really help, things fall apart. Is it her fear of commitment sabotaging everything? Or my inner asshole striking out? Bleh. Who knows. I don't know up from down or what I think or feel anymore.
Had a great time chatting with ogun last night on the phone for hours.