I never did get any sherry. And I wanted to buy some, but my mom does not allow alcohol in her house, and since I live with her I am forced to pretend that I don't pay half or more for everything and that I am under her rules even though I am thirty-two. My room is not mine because it is in her house, and she can walk in any time she pleases. So I can't even have wine or sherry in here. I would give anything to get really drunk right now. I am filled with so much sadness that I need to drown it. I have stopped wanting just enough to pull back and resist the need to try to touch him and feel the sting of rejection.

I've been having very vivid dreams lately and multiple dreams following each other. Saturday night I had two long dreams back to back, and the night before I had three dreams in a row. I don't remember some of them though, sadly. I woke up remembering, but forgot them and only remember two very distinctly.

The first one I remember is I was being transferred to a mental institution and meeting my roommate for the first time. She was disheveled, and her long brown hair was un-brushed. I would say she was wearing a hospital gown over slacks. The room was a mess with her belongings everywhere, including on my bed. I was adjusting to the idea of being in there and knowing I at least had grounds privileges and thinking I would like to overcome my agoraphobia enough to take advantage of them. The room was cream colored and places had a mint green tint, and the beds each had a window beside them with white grating covering it. The room was thin and the beds were long ways against the wall. I thought that at least I would be able to look outside at the trees. My boyfriend had something to do with me being in there, but everything was a blur, as if I could not remember what I had done to be there. I wasn't there for anything I currently am or have.

The second very vivid dream I remember:

We had received a letter that a house secretly owned by my boyfriend's great grandmother, that had belonged to her mother, was being auctioned, but as my boyfriend is a legal heir, he had some sort of rights to it if he wanted it. We went to see the house, and there were families there inspecting it. It was a three story Victorian style house with a decent amount of property around it and the greenest grass. It was in the tiny NM town of L@s Veg@s, where the state insane asylum is. My subconscious also clearly remembered that that is where my boyfriend's family lived for a long time. The house was shades of purples and white. I guess I liked the pitched roofs and towers and eaves. It had a grand foyer, and staircases. It was very old and run down though. The wood floors were unpolished raw wood, and they creaked. The house was almost entirely original. We went to the third floor. His great grandmother's belongings were still there. Clothes and books she wrote (she was a writer too :-) ) and various things. The master suite had a double closet with squeaky doors. The view out the window was of a driveway and parking area - nothing much to be desired. The second bedroom on the third floor had a smaller closet, and was painted a faded rosey-beige color along with mahogany banisters and trim. I had a feeling it would be my writing room. I looked out the window and immediately was greeted by some shores of England and an old building window, much like castles had, with the 1.5 foot thick window area. The window had beautiful iron grates covering it. When I looked below there were British people with white aprons on yelling happily and laughing and a narrow alleyway leading to a small restaurant. When I looked up again I saw the English shore in the distance and an old, thin, man with white hair beckoned me to join him. Oddly he was standing at third floor level. He signed with his hands and fingers and even though it was British sign language I understood it. I signed back that I would join him later, and that the sea was beautiful. I closed the deep rose colored sheer curtains and told my boyfriend who was in the room now that this was going to be my writing room. It's not every day that you look out a window and are greeted with the view of a foreign country.

My boyfriend went downstairs and I followed him to view two additional bedrooms with the same drab LV,NM view out the windows. And as we left to go see the kitchen and sitting rooms my boyfriend's friend M called and woke me up. So I never got to see the rest of the house.

I woke up pissed that it was a dream.

In boyfriend news, two of our friends are getting married this month and have invited us to their weddings. I am not going. He is, at least to one of them even though it means missing a very important workshop to get a license he needs. I told him we need to make time to be together, and he gave me two hours of time, something like 4-6 on Saturday and 6-8 on Thursday�this actually broke my heart more. He doesn't understand and I can't get him to. I have tried for years and he just does not want to make love or cuddle or lay naked together or anything. There is always something more important to do. And it made me feel stupid for hoping through Saturday that he would put the computer down at some point and want to touch me in any way. But he procrastinated and watched TV all day, and then got to work at 8 pm and stayed working till about midnight when he rolled over and went to sleep. As I left to go home on Sunday, he finally got aroused, and I just stared at him. He gets horny as I am leaving to go home. I don't get it. I am very incredibly sad. And he will blame me if he blows the fake job interview he has today because I voiced that I feel sad. So I don't see my week going well at all. Between his class, his jobs, his commute, the wedding this week, and other commitments, I don't exist in his world this week.

From a conversation we had:

Me: Promise we will get married someday, and not on my or your deathbed

Him: how can I promise what is not in my power to do?

One day you will hear my heart stop for want of no longer feeling desire, even for breath�

~e