Let's Talk About Sex

Let's talk about sex for now to the people at home or in the crowd
It keeps coming up anyhow
Don't decoy, avoid, or make void the topic
Cuz that ain't gonna stop it
Now we talk about sex on the radio and video shows
Many will know anything goes
Let's tell it how it is, and how it could be
How it was, and of course, how it should be
Those who think it's dirty have a choice
Pick up the needle, press pause, or turn the radio off
Will that stop us, Pep? I doubt it
All right then, come on, Spin

I've had a tumultuous week in bed.  I'd like to say the rumpled sheets and pillows on the floor are a result of passion.  Sadly, not.  

I've had a hard time sleeping this week.  Slow to fall to sleep.  Hard to stay asleep.  I've been waking up at 4 every morning, wide awake, with no explanation, no matter what time I went to bed the night before. It's like someone or something told me to "wake up." I eventually fall back asleep and then the alarm goes off. I hit snooze so many times that my alarm clock would probably have bruises if it were a living thing.  Nothing too stressful is going on in my life.  Same old same old.  Life, work, money.

Hmm... okay... I have been stressing a lot lately about money, especially after that ad-thing went belly up.  

I called my mom last Saturday night to thank her for the Valentine's Day card I got and to "vent" - something I never do because she and I just don't have that type of relationship - and she turned the call into an opportunity to complain about how much she does for my brother -- from buying him food, to washing his clothing, giving him money, to taking care of his kids when it's his custody weekend.

My brother is 42.  He is fully capable of doing things for himself.  He chooses not to.  So, it made me mad.  I went off on her about how I've been taking care of myself since I was 19 years old and that she needs to stop enabling him.  She got mad.  I got mad.  I hate when I try to reach out to people to tell them I need help and they shut me down.  It's no wonder I don't really trust people to be there for me when I need help.

It could also be hormones.  I've noticed that there's a certain time of the month that I get particularly hormonal, as most women do, and during that time, I can't sleep well either.  It may just be a coincidence that money stress and my mom happened at the same time.

In addition to not being able to sleep well, I've had some random, disjointed, confusing and odd dreams.  Odder than normal (if you are a regular reader and have read some of my past blogs about dreams.)

I had one short dream that I told a man I loved him (romantically) and he laughed at me.  That was the entire dream.  I was wearing a pink top with hearts on the sleeve (hmm, figure out that meaning!) and just walked up to him and said the words from my favorite Partridge Family song: "I think I love you."  He laughed.  I woke up.

In another, I was standing in line in a school cafeteria with a guy who looked a lot like Barry Watson (who is a Taurus according to his IMDB profile.  See my blog about Opposites Attract for more on that.)  He turned to me and said, "We can't be friends anymore."  I put a container of chocolate milk and a thing of jello on my tray and said, "Why not?"  He said, "I had a dirty dream about you last night."  I said, "You had a dirty dream about me and now we can't be friends?"  He said yes.  I said, "That's not fair.  I had a dirty dream about you once and didn't stop being your friend."  He paused, while reaching for a cookie, and said, "You had a dirty dream about me?"  I sighed.  He said, "Was I good?" I shook my head.  "I'm sorry.  We're not friends.  I can't talk to you about it," I said and walked around him in line to pay for my food.  He just stood there with his mouth open.  I woke up.

Then, I had that dream that I texted a photo of my vajazzled private parts to everyone I know.  I still worry about that one.  I've checked my phone.  Luckily, I haven't done any sleep vajazzling or sleep texting. 

Thursday night, I had a stress dream about work.

Last night, I had a dream that I was giving a presentation on relationships (thus the song choice for this blog) in a conference room at a hotel.  At least, I'm assuming it's a conference room in a hotel.  It just had that vibe too it.  I had a huge flip chart on a stand that said, "Men and Women.  Can They Really Talk To Each Other?"

In the room, there was a beautiful woman with different shades of blonde hair, the Barry Watson lookalike, a woman from work that I see in the halls but don't really talk to, my college friend Kelly, and my friend Heather Marie's husband Jason.  I also know this wasn't work because I had one of those remote control thingies in my hand that controlled the Powerpoint presentation from across the room. We don't use those at work. I clicked the clicker and an image of a magazine clipping came up.  It was a "letter" to the person who gives romantic advice in a magazine.  

It said "My boyfriend doesn't listen to me.  He always talks about himself.  If I tell him I'm having a bad day, he ignores me and tells me about his worse day.  Will we ever be able to talk about serious things or should I assume he's going to be selfish forever?"  I read the letter to the class.  

The blonde kept playing with her hair and looking at the Barry Watson type.  The woman from work was texting on her phone.  My friend Kelly was smiling at me but not saying anything.  Jason made some smart allecky comment about the woman's first mistake was telling the guy she was having a bad day because men didn't want to hear that kind of stuff.  So, I decided to play off of Jason's comment.  I asked everyone in the room for their input, but stared specifically at the Barry Watson guy.  He shrugged.  The blonde spoke up and asked if we were allowed to have alcohol during the session because she was dying for a glass of wine. I ignored her and moved to the next slide, which listed statistics from some sort of women's magazine about men and women and the topics they deemed acceptable as conversation starters.  I pointed out that "bad day" wasn't even on the list.  Money, family and illness were not on the list either.  The top three were weather, television and sex.  As soon as I said the word sex, Barry Watson-man spoke up and said, "So, what about dirty dreams?  Can men and women talk about dirty dreams?"  I sighed angrily and threw my remote control at him and walked out of the room.  I woke up.

I've never had dreams pull in previous dreams before.  This is new for me.  I've had the same dream over and over before, with slight changes each time, but I can't recall having a dream that picked up something from a previous dream.

I haven't had any dirty dreams about any men in my life lately.  At least, if I have, I don't remember them.  Usually when I have a dirty dream, it's a faceless man.  Maybe because my mind (and heart) are hesitant to inert an actual person into such an intimate and private situation without some sort of feeling that the person feels the same.  The man is usually a representation of my ideal man.

Now, I'd love to think there are men out there fantasizing about me.  I might be more apt to keep on going to the gym if I knew my efforts were paying off. 

Walt Disney once said that dreams are wishes your heart makes.  I think I've quoted that on here before.

Obviously, my heart wants a Barry Watson type to have dirty dreams about me. 

And I want a job discussing relationships. And someone to care about my bad days.

I'd say it's pretty dead on.