Wednesday, August 19, 2009


I thought I'd be blogging everyday for 30 days here so as not to whine, cry and obsess to my friends on Twitter and Facebook... but it seems I can't really do that here either. I sit in Sacramento w/ my dear friend, and I tell her I can't think of anything else or talk about anything else because I'm so aware of how frickin' BORING it is. She tells me that's why I'm here, and that's why SHE'S here... but still, I'm sure even the bestest of friends can only take so much... hell, even if "Brad" himself were reading this now, he'd be screaming UNCLE right now to stop this boring shit...

No matter how much I try to distract myself or keep my mouth shut though... it all comes out in my dreams. Every time I sleep I've dreamed some heavy-ass story. People say I'm "having a meetin' with all the important players" or "Your subconscious mind/spirit/soul is processing all this in your sleep because the awake you cannot handle it." I know he'd think that was a good thing, because he knew how little good, quality sleep I get... he'd say I was getting good REM sleep in those ZZZZZZZZZzzzzz... but this morning is the FIRST TIME that HE was in it. Funny, I've even dreamt about Brad Jr., but never him.

Only in this dream... he was the Brad I knew in high school. Not today's Brad, who's 6 ft/240 and built like a football player -- but Brad at 15, 5 ft tall/74 pounds. Maybe that's because that's who I really see, the heart of the young Brad to whom I was so special back then... but I digress.

Triangles... this dream was all about triangles. I was going to try out a new therapist, but she ended up being my old therapist in Beverly Hills that I adored. But in the huge waiting room, there were lots of people there to see her... I was there after working out and showering in a co-ed locker room (wow, that's weird) and I found out there was an older woman who was going to see Dr. Therapist because she and her girlfriend were fighting: she wanted to be with ME. Huh?

I was there because I was struggling the triangle between Brad and his soon-to-be ex-wife who still owned his heart... and he was there because of his issue with her... vs. a new, hopeful life without her. Funny it wasn't between ME and HER, it was between HER and HIS NEW LIFE... and I was a part of that.

The waiting room was crazy. Watching it I thought "Is this a frickin' clinic or what -- what happened to her Beverly Hills office?" Young Brad was clinging to me, sitting really close, while the lesbian woman kept trying to talk to me, with her girlfriend in tow. At one point I stood up and told her I wanted to be with HIM, and then he stood up too and grabbed my hand... and we were almost a foot apart in height, and his hand was smaller and delicate, not like the strong, earthy, working man's hands I know and love today. That kind of shocked me... BUT I DIDN'T CARE, and gratefully, neither did he... and he climbed up on a step, got to my height, and kissed me in front of her.

"She's choosing me," he said to her. "So leave her alone."

Then I got called in to the therapy room. Dr. Therapist wasn't quite ready for me... but I didn't care. I had it all figured out already in the past few minutes: I didn't believe in triangles. Period. "Love on a TWO-way street" as the old R&B classic goes, not a lonely (or three-lane) highway!

It felt great to "meet" you tonight, Mr. Brad. I miss you.