The man is an hour or two away from home now and he reports that he has barbecue in the cooler. Hurray! And so of course I have dough rising for buns. The bed has clean sheets even though I didn't touch his side of the bed the whole time he was gone. My space is clearly delineated not only by custom but by Jack, usually, who knows not to stray anywhere near the man's side of the bed and who therefore guards the borderline with every one of this seventeen pounds. Or whatever he weighs. Just a tiny bit less than Levon, I'm guessing.
I had a terrible dream this morning. A dream I haven't had in years and years and of course it was a variation of ones I used to have as no two of my dreams are ever exactly the same, even if I repeat the same settings and themes frequently. I dreamed I was mad at my children who were still little. They wouldn't obey me and go to sleep and they had created messes all over the house. I woke up with the words, "This place is a pig sty!" screaming loud in my head. In my dream, I was literally going to spank them.
This is a true nightmare for me. There were times when my children were young when I was furious with them. I have even spanked them a few times and I am so regretful about that. I was horribly regretful when I did it. I knew that it was not their actions which had moved me to such high emotion, but my own fucked-upedness. Back before I got help with my sexual abuse issues I carried an incredible amount of anger inside of me and sometimes, it came out and people who did not deserve it in the least bore the brunt of it.
I am not proud of this at all, and there is part of me which can't believe that my husband never left me. On the other hand, knowing what I know now, knowing that in many ways I had every right to be filled with anger, I am not surprised at how I acted at times.
If only I could have directed that anger at the ones who did deserve it. But I never could.
I have often said that my therapist saved my life. I stand by those words. She helped me to understand my anger and she also helped me to understand that very often, anger is what we use to cover up the fear we feel. Anger makes us feel strong. Rage can feel so good.
Fear never does. And god knows, I had plenty of that too. And I suppose I still do. What else is anxiety? And of course there's the old saw that depression is anger turned inwards. Which is probably true.
So many endless layers to that stinking onion, as I also often say.
And these days I don't get angry that often. That part of me has cooled immensely although I do still have times of anxiety and depression. Medication helps with those and that's for sure in my own personal experience. So having that dream this early morning shocked me and upset me, just flat-out worried me. Obviously I am not angry at any children for messing up the house. And the children in my life- my grandchildren- may not obey me all the time but they generally do what I ask or can be talked into it. They certainly don't trigger any anger in me so of course, the presence of the very naughty children in my dreams is purely symbolic.
What am I angry about? Who am I angry at?
When I was very young I was in a Christmas nativity, as most of us who were raised in any Christian faith were. The church I went to was so small and the people who attended it were mostly way past the age of having small children so it was easy for those of us who were children to get a starring role. One year I was Mary, mother of the baby Jesus and I don't remember much about it but I do remember the narrator reading the words from Luke which said, "And Mary took these things and pondered them in her heart," and they seemed so beautiful to me then and they still seem very beautiful to me now.
I am taking these things and I am pondering them in my heart.
I never, ever want to unleash that sort of anger on an innocent person again in my life and especially not a child. I'm not really afraid that I will but it is some sort of warning to me to have had that dream. I realize that I still have anger in me and not the sort of anger one might feel for Donald Trump or the Republican party but a more insidious type of anger, an ugly worm of emotion which, at the very least, is dangerous to the one who carries it inside of her.
That's what I've been thinking about today as I've done laundry and more weeding and mulching and getting bites from the horrible little vicious red ants which have made entire colonies in the delicious, warm bags of composting leaves.
There's a bit of a metaphor.
Soon my husband will be home. My week alone in which I was really not entirely alone at all and in which I was certainly not lonely, will end. I imagine that the cats will be glad to see him, as I will, feeling that things are as they should be once again.