pica_pica

That was a fitfull night.
I was so awake for so much of it, and when I slept, my dreams were thick, vivid and somehow right at the surface.
I dreamt at first a normal dream. I was just talking to R out in the street somewhere in front of some large stone steps. She was not being unpleasant, it was more the her I knew for those other 12 years. She was smiling as she talked about something, I dont remember what that was though, I just remember her looking at me and she was happy. For some reason, her real name didnt seem to be there in the dream. There was a josie sounding name, but it was more like joesey. Not sure if that was supposed to be her name or not, but then her cell phone rang.
She looked down at the call display and her demeanor instantly changed. Her face rippling a transformation from the happy old her to a new, unrecognizable mask. She answered.
Why are you calling me? I dont talk to you anymore. And she hung up.

Thats all I remember from that dream, or maybe that dream somehow blended into what feels like the next one.
I was alone on a train. Sitting in the right hand isle by the window and it was dark out. As I sat there, I started to think I could faintly hear some sort of beautiful Arabic sounding music underneath the white noise of the trainsound. A voice singing that was neither a definite woman or a definite man, something like the muezzin, but with much more Love and sorrow. It was there, and it wasnt. In my dream I convinced myself that I was simply hallucinating that singing inside that audio fuzz of the wheels, engine, squeals and rumble of the train.
The train started to slow to a stop and the white noise dissipated, taking the singing with it. The woman that was across the isle from me looked over at me and said I had a beautiful voice.
?
I thought that singing was in my head. Then the man in front of her said it wasnt me singing, that that music was just there.
We had stopped in some small town between here and chilliwack called something like fareal, or azreal or something like that I can see the shapes of the letters on the front page of that towns newspaper, as we were all looking at an old one from 1979.
I was alone then, and trying to find the house where the people did the plays.

I found the house, and it was an older 1920s style of house on a street lined with old 1920s style houses. (looked a bit like a bigger version of Ryan's house). There was a ton of activity going on as these people prepared for whatever tonights show was going to be, and I somehow got involved with them, helping to set up. Then came the music again. This time definitely a womans voice, but that same beautiful Arabic sound. We were reeling off long streams of natural coloured cotton from a huge ream that these Bedouin women were holding up on the next level in the living room, and the decoration inside this house was extremely Arabic tent as well. People had started to congregate outside, and 4 of us went into the back room to bathe before the show. (somewhere in there, one of the women started to electrocute my manly bits with some strange small clamp things that held a tiny buzzing charge, but it didnt seem to be a hugely important part of the dream.)

Then the show started.
Tonight it wasnt a play at all. Tonight it was an old art film staring Sean Penn and that guy from Buffalo 66.. whats his name Vincent Gallo. It started as an old western in the main street of town, Sean Penn played the cowboy, Vincent Gallo the Indian. There were fightin words and the camera panned back and then the shot switched to an overhead view.
Now, however, the camera was looking down on a football field. The cowboys on one side, the Indians on the other, wearing full on football gear and about to face off. The game began when one player from each side walked up to the 50 yard line and started to spit what I can only assume was polenta in each others faces. Yellow corn meal paste was all over the field, and each team started running towards eachother hucking this corn sludge at one another.

Ok.. I think the beginning of the dream was much better than the end. I think sometimes the dreamgods go off on their lunch break and just leave you to it and you always end up fucking it all up.

I edited yesterdays journal. I took out something that was totally true, but I know there is a chance that she may come in and read this thing sometimes. And even though what I wrote is honestly what I felt, sometimes honesty is just too much. I guess its just a compassion thing, I still dont want her to hurt, and Im pretty sure she would if she heard my thoughts that were up there for a while yesterday.

Anyways. I have a question to pose here. Please answer honestly.

She still hasn't responded to my email from Tuesday. Nor has she yet to deposit what she owes for last month's dog bills. I have not faltered on paying her though, I pay the visa every month, I deposit money into her account every month, and the fact that she would default on a debt to do with Morgan really really upsets me. Anger? yes, but mostly I'm just really sad about that. It has the potential to say really bad things about her.

So, am I somehow wrong here? Am I doing something wrong? Is my method of handling what this situation has become somehow asshole-ish? My confusion makes me ask that. Some people close to me here now seem to be suggesting more often than not to just say fuck it and cut all ties. Dont put up with it anymore. Let the compassion wear out. Did as much as I could do.
I really think thats wrong, but I am now soliciting advice.