Wow! What an amazing night of crazy dreams. I spent the whole day at the shore and laid on the beach from ten till two. At 3ish, we got off the beach and I went over to say hi to Guy Petersen who was setting up to play guitar at the Shell for his weekly gig. Chit chatted with him for a while about C and then left and went out to dinner, then arcade with kids, then shopping. At about that point, I got horrible pains in my stomach. Anyway, we made it home by 7:30pm and I was even able to shower, finish up some work, and write P back some silliness about Che Guevera.
So, the dreams…on the last one I was a bus jacker and wore this chastity belt-looking strap-on thing and my whole house was gothic. Another dream was about my high school friends and I constantly trying to squeeze through this tiny hole to get into a big, beautiful building. I also dreamed of C, who needed a shave and turned crazy.
God. That’s it! The more P complains about his finances the more insane I get that he won’t let me help. I WANT TO HELP! I AM AN ENABLER FOR GOD’S SAKE AND HE WON’T LET ME HELP! So, I just watch him dig his own grave. It’s a horrible feeling.
I don’t want to just hand him over money. I want to help him, and teach him to budget his money. What’s so bad about that? That’s not enabling. Or is it? Maybe it’s controlling. I don’t know. What’s so bad about teaching a man to cook so he won’t starve?
Heck, and speaking of food, P spends about $160 per week on eating out! Hello? If you’re struggling with money, quit eating out.
Anyway, I’ll have to say that as far as boyfriends go, he was so sweet yesterday calling and texting me and getting all concerned about my coffee addiction. Ah, we’re both so concerned with each other’s failures.