Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks

Note to self: No more chocolate before bedtime

I woke up confused this morning. I smashed my hand against the snooze button, simultaneously knocking an empty wine glass from the night stand. (The glass escaped unscathed because I have carpet.) I arched my back to stretch and in one fluid motion, slid up against the pillows into a sitting position and pulled the down comforter up around my chest. I rubbed my eyes, fumbled around for my glasses and attempted to untangle my hair. I leaned back against the pillows and my iron headboard and tried to knock the sleep from my head. A very detailed dream had startled me, even though it really wasn't scary. As I settled back into bed (I have today off from work), I racked my brain for details of the dream and came up with the following:

I was at work, but not in my office – instead in an office with long desks and several computers. But I was the only one there working and the phones kept ringing off of the hook. As I dashed from phone to phone, I yelled to the guy in the room – a guy I had previously fallen very hard for – to help me out. One of my superiors was on the phone freaking out about an article in the newspaper and I hadn’t read it and was trying to pretend that I had for some reason. (I should have just asked if I could look the story up and call the Superior back, which would have been fine in reality. But I didn't and I just kept digging myself deeper into a hole.) Over the phone, the superior would mention things and locations specific to work and kept insisting that the quotes he gave a reporter made him sound stupid. I kept trying to appease him, but the phones kept ringing, so I pressed the receiver against my stomach and I begged the guy for help. “Go into my e-mail and print the e-mail from [Coworker’s name] and bring it to me,” I barked. "Now! I need it!" He protested as I hissed orders at him. He wouldn’t (or couldn’t) print the e-mail and so I stalked across the room to do it myself. He looked at me helplessly with his nice eyes. He looked like he does in reality, except for his hair was gray, like Anderson Cooper’s. He complained that he was tired of hanging out with me at work and wanted us to go somewhere. I wanted to kiss him, but instead I snarked back about being busy. Then he told me he was living with his girlfriend and two other couples in a house in Bloomington, Indiana. (Which isn’t true in real life.) Then a Coworker/Friend (the one who sent the e-mail I needed) walked in and I introduced him to her. She raised her eyebrows about the guy. "What did you say?" he demanded. "I just introduced you to my friend," I said. I pouted my lip. “I can’t believe you,” he yelled and he stormed out of the room. “Wait …” I trailed off and didn’t stop him. I shrugged and went back to work.
The dream confused me because I've thought of this guy once recently and then before that it had been years. And then to vividly remember him in a dream about work? And to have him tell me something so specific (that he was living in Bloomington) that I know isn't actually true? And to be so mean to him and have him get so mad and me and storm out? Either I've got some sort of unresolved issue there or I need to limit my sugar intake before bed. (Or a combination of both.) I nestled myself back into the pillows and watched an episode of "Desperate Housewives" on DVD. Susan came clean to Edie about her house, Bree (my favorite!) tried to teach George how to shoot a gun, Gabrielle fought with Carlos and Lynette pretended one of her kids had cancer to get a spot in her gym's nursery. I should have been lost in the ridiculousness of it all. But for some reason, the dream stayed with me.

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Charming, but single is 25 26 27(!), lives in the Southern part of the U.S.A. and likes both her drinks and her boys tall. E-mail (listed below) her and she may respond. You can also IM her in AIM/AOL. (If she ever remembers to sign on.)
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Former taglines of this blog: "A Journal in Dates and Drinks" and "A Dateless Journal of Drinking."

Those Particulars
Some Backstory
Memories of the Way We Were
Updates and Towel Snapping
One Year Wrap-Up
Just As She Is
An Open Letter to Myself
After 26 years, she HAS learned something
An Open Letter to the Men Who Message Me Through Match
Sharing a smoke

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