Sunday was a wild night for dreams.  I was visiting my best friend, Dena, at the college where she works.  I was looking for a certain room, room 111-111, but ended up walking all over the campus.  Finally after an hour I retraced my steps and found the room.  I found my friend, but I learned that her husband Michael had died.  I remember feeling really bad for her, but I also felt bad for myself because I wouldn't see Michael again.  Then the dream got really strange.  A man was angry at me because I had taken his golden ball.  Dena was fishing in the pond right outside room 111-111.  Then, as Dena stood on the porch outside room 111-111, she disintegrated, leaving behind a pile of clothes.

I was upset all morning after that dream.  Both Michael and Dena died!  And this coming from the woman who won't write fiction becaquse she can't bear to make her characters suffer.    

Last night I dreamt that I was a groom in a wedding.  There I was, wearing a tuxedo, standing at the altar, waiting for the bride to approach.  As she came nearer in her beautiful off-the-shoulder dress I thought, this is wrong, I should be the bride.  I should be wearing the dress.  I should be the one walking up the aisle.  But I stood there, like a groom on a cake, stuck to the spot.  When she got to the altar and the ceremony began I went along, all along realizing that this was wrong.  I shouldn't be a man.  I shouldn't be taller than this woman and looking down at her.  I shouldn't be marrying a woman.  I felt panicky and trapped.  I was a wind-up doll set into motion.  When the wedding concluded and I was told to kiss the bride, I did, but with the sense that this was something I had to do because I was the man.  I didn't feel any enjoyment as we kissed, just confusion.

I'm still feeling confused.  I've had dreams before where I've been a man, but never this realistic.  The feeling I take from this dream is that I'm being cheated.  I'm the one who should be in that dress and walking on those high heels.  I should have the clevage and the bare shoulders and the gorgeous earrings.  I should be the one everyone is watching walk up the aisle.  Instead I'm wearing a black suit and pants and nasty black mens shoes and nothing at all feels right.  Ugh.

My interpretation?  I spent the last two days painting the basement walls.  Today I'm tired and my back and arms are achey and nothing feels right.  On Sunday my husband was out of the house watching the Bears playoff.  Yesterday he slept in and went to work late.  I wanted and expected some help doing this painting, but when it became clear that Mike didn't want to get paint on his dainty little hands I decided to do the job myself.  I took on the "man's chore" and I'm resentful and about it.  I was the wind-up doll trained on the basement walls for two days.  I took out my anger on those walls by painting like a madman.  And I doo mean madMAN.  And he gets to be the bride.  Kinda pathetic I think.                    

Whew!  I'm back to work three days and I don't think I've caught my breath yet.  My boss is starting a trial tomorrow and I've been helping with preparing exhibits, research, writing trial memoranda.  Talk about hitting the ground running, In high heels , yet.

My aching feet are missing the ease of sandals or no shoes at all.  My frazzled brain is missing sleeping in and no hair or makeup to do and no missing dry cleaning to worry about.  I'm enjoying being back home.  I love my house and my neighborhood, so the lack of a beach isn't a problem.  The problem is the lack of beachiness.

"Beachiness" is the state of no hurry with nothing having to be done.  Wake up, watch the sunrise, take a nap.  Read.  Take a walk, eat some lunch, take another nap.  Take another walk, watch some dolphins, sit in the hot tub.  The first real decision comes about four p.m.--have a drink or read some more?  For once the drinking starts, the reading stops.    

My office is the least "beachy" place on the planet.  My job is all about making decisions.  Nobody is on auto-pilot.  What approach to take in a case, what to research, what to disclose, what memos to prepare and when, who to subpoena, call the client, call the witness, check with the judge.  So much to do and so little time to do it.  At the beach there's nothing but time.  Do the dolphins worry about discovery deadlines?  Heck no!  They're busy playing in the waves.  They embody "beachiness."  

Right now I'm embodying a "b**chiness" which sounds sort of like the state of beach induced bliss, but is the exact opposite.  Maybe some hydrotherapy--a long hot bath will help.  Maybe a few hours of no pantyhose or heels will make a difference.  Maybe if I hold one of my seashells to my ear I'll be transported back to the ocean.  Maybe tomorrow will be Friday.  I'm trying to be positive, but the only thing I'm positive about is that I'm positive I can't wait for Saturday and the weekend to come.  I've been spoiled and I can't get back.              



  

Last night I dreamt that I was organizing a party for a woman who I know through my daughter's girl scout troop. She's a great woman, helpful in the troop and very practical and down to earth. She has two great daughters and runs her own computer consultiing business. It's strange that I was organizing this party because although she and I are good aquaintences we're not great friends. But with the help of some ladies from the Chamber of Commerce, who I kind of knew, but who thankfully always wore name tags, we got the party together.

The party was at my old college house that I shared with three other girls. The setting was as seedy and rough as I remember our college parties being. A keg was off to the side, but in a nod to middle aged elegance, food and desert tables were set up as well as a separate drink table with wine and coffee.

A group of about eight of my friend's co-workers came to the party and I saw them and my friend dancing around the yard and through the house during the evening. The rest of the crowd included my best friend, Dena, who I hung around with all night, and dozens of college-type ner-do-wells whose numbers ebbed and flowed with the supply of alcohol. I'm sure I recognized some of the ner-do-wells as as old college friends or roommates but they were a mostly faceless bunch.

By all measures the partiey was a success, albeit a low-rent and rather seedy success. The guests stayed long and partied hard, they conga lined throughout the house, and I recall the empty keg laying tipped over in the back yard. It was strange that the woman for whom I organized the party and I didn't talk the entire night, but I wasn't upset. Instead I was thrilled to spend so much time with Dena.

What was strange about this dream is that it merged past and present, college life and adult life. My dreams that involve college usually involve me as a college aged co-ed looking for a class or fretting over an exam. Never before have I been an adult transported to that college mileu. And how strange it felt; I was so aware of how far I have come since my college years. And it involved how far I and my tastes and expectations have come. But not my circumstances. For nowhere in the dream did I think of the touchstones of my current life;  my children, husband, job, or home. The only links to the present were my much admired girl scout friend (perhaps a role model?) and the chamber of commerce ladies (what was with the name tags?).

All in all this seems like a great post vacation dream. I seem to have synthesized something new and vital and personal during my stay at the beach. Now to try to tease out what exactly that is.

It's a foggy morning, I can barely see the ocean. Odd how beach weather can change from crystal clarity to peasoup and back with the speed of a changing tide. I came on this trip looking to get away from the craziness of Christmas and the pressures of home. I guess we can never get away from those presures that we carry inside of ourselves.

I always thought jealousy was all about insecurity. I would feel jealous of someone when I felt unattractive compared to another woman. But jealousy never exists in a vacuum, there has to be a third party. I'm jealous of a co-worker--that she may take my job. I'm jealous of my friend Pam--she gets all the attention in a group. I'm jealous of Eunice--she wants the attention of my husband. Without that third person or that object of competition we don't have jealousy, we have envy.

You may say, dear reader, that Carol is once again splitting hairs. The sand and sunshine have addled her mind and the excessive amounts of sex with her husband have wearied her body. Too much hot tubbing, too much walking the beach under a silvery bright full moon, too much peace and quiet. She needs to return to the real world where you don't see glorious sunrises and watch dolphins play over your morning coffee.

The difference between envy and jealousy is trust. I 'm jealous of my co-worker if I don't trust my boss to fairly judge our work. I'm jealous of Eunice because I don't trust Eunice's intentions, I don't trust in my own attractiveness, and I don't trust Mike when he says there's nothing between Eunice and him and that he loves me dearly. Mike has done everything he could this week to reassure me of his love. We're together most of the day, we have long walks and talks on the beach, we're here for each other, and the sex has been wonderful. I may be glowing from last night's orgasms, and I am feeling reassured, but something still keeps me from feeling entirely trusting.

Mike has been there for me for twenty years. He's never strayed. Like any man, he's flirted a bit too much when I was around, but when I asked him to stop he did. He's been as constant in my life as the moon and the tides. He's changable as the surf, but he always returns, he's always there for me. He's playful as a dolphin, warming as the sun, and as protective of me and our daughters as this wonderful beach house.  I cannot understand why that doesn't translate to trust.  I have no reason not to trust the man, except maybe that he's a man.

Thank you everybody for your advice and help. The only situation I'm facing right now is one that I imagine because of my jealousy. Nothing's happened. Nobody's strayed. Mike has told me all that's going on. I can and will continue to tell Mike that this girl is up to no good, that she's using him to get emotional succor that she can't get at home. And I will trust that Mike will hear me and I will trust Mike to do the right thing. I'm still felling jealous, but maybe a little less so.

I am feeling so guilty.  Here I am at the ocean, the weather has been beautiful, and my family is together for what will be our last big trip before oldest daughter Mara goes to college.  Am I taking relaxing walks on the beach?  Yes often with my husband.  Am I getting in some valuable hot tub time?  Ashley and I are in there every day.  Reading out loud to each other, talking with my kids, watching movies as a family?  Yes to all three.  So what's the problem?  There's a green eyed monster staying with us and she just won't go away.

I'm trying to take Sherry's advice and just enjoy the trip, don't talk to Mike about....let's call her Eunice.   Ordinarily this wouldn't be a problem.  Usually we're busy with so many things that it's hard to talk about anything.  But here, at the ocean, we have long hours  of idleness or time when Mike and I are alone walking.  All I want to do is talk to him about  Eunice.  I know I shouldn't, and he's assured me that even though nothing's going on he'll cool down their relationship.  But I guess I want even more assurances that it's me he loves, not the younger and prettier Eunice.

So the less I talk about Eunice, the more I think about her.  Jealousy is a bitch of an emotion.  Once it takes up residence it's almost impossible to evict.  I thought that writing about my feelings would help me sort them out, but instead I seem to be wallowing in my insecurity.  Even sex with Mike tonight didn't help.  Usually the outside world vanishes when Mike does me.  Usually his touch takes me way away from myself and my cares.  Not tonight.  I had trouble getting into the mood.  My "juice maker" didn't want to get started.  Everything seemed sort of mechanical.

I know it's me.  I know I need to put these feelings aside for now.  I don't even have any evidence that anything is wrong.  The last thing I want to do is ruin this trip for my family.  I feel so bad, so guilty.  I guess that's why I'm blogging at 4am.  I hope this is just moodiness on my part and that it will pass.  I hope that Eunice returns to Illinois and stays there until Saturday.  I know I'll feel better after a night's sleep and during the daylight.  Thanks for listening.     

Here I sit in my well-windowed living room overlooking the ocean in Corolla, North Carolina, far removed from the hustle and hype of New Years. Mike and Ashley are still asleep, Mara is up and we just shared breakfast. The house is quiet except for the constant roaring of the surf outside. Life is almost perfect.

Beach time is a curious thing. It exists outside of real time. It asks that you slow down and really notice nature. The surf is in constant motion, the tides are either coming in or going out. Dolphins are swimming just beyond the white caps and I'm sure whales aren't too far beyond. Each sunrise is unique, the moon is traversing the sky, clouds come and go and now raindrops are washing over the windows and deck.

Being at the beach makes for a strange New Year. New year's Eve was just another day, as is New Year's Day. Yesterday we woke at dawn, watched the sun rise and walked the beach. Last night I made a special dinner, we watched Mel Brooks' "Silent Movie," and sat in the hot tub. Heaven! Today I woke at dawn, and, unable to wake anyone else, watched the sun rise myself.

This tourist town is unusually quiet. Only one in twenty houses shows any light or life. The roads and beaches are empty and everything is still. What better than this timeless place to experience the arbitrary start of yet another arbitrarily numbered year. For nothing is more human than the need to impose order on nature, and nothing is more naturally wild and elemental that the ocean.

Mike and I have been talking, during walks, over drinks on our deck, while eating dinner. We've been talking about his having drinks with this woman at work. He says that she doesn't have anyone to talk to, that her husband doesn't understand her, and that she needs to share with him. He says that they will have "just one more" drink together and then he'll tell her that's it. BS!! Is my response!!! What kind of hold does this girl (who is very young and cute) have on him? I think I can guess! Even if it's all innocent on his part, even if he's just flattered by her attentions, Mike is playing with fire; her motives aren't innocent.  At the very least she wants an emotional attachment with him for secret sharing.  I've met her once and I think I understand her better than Mike.

Anyway, my period's over and (Jaysey) I'm now behaving rationally, thank you. I'd better use this short, precious time of sanity and our remaining beach time to work on my husband's ego, libido, and sense of right and wrong. Unfortunately, I'm getting angry at Mike because he won't flat out refuse to see this girl and that's starting to get in the way of how we talk about this.  Oh well......I'm the only girl he's going to see this week and he'll see plenty of her.  If the ocean is teaching me anything it's to live in the here and now and to enjoy the moment.  I'll try.