Dreaming

I hate him today.

That was my very first thought this morning. The very first sentence that entered my brain. I hate him today. 


Not a very promising start to my day, to say the least.

You see, I had a dream last night about my ex-boyfriend. You know, the one guy who ever stole my heart that it seems I still haven't gotten over. I'm working on it, of course, but I have yet to actually succeed in my endeavors. I've gotten better, since I moved to Utah. Nothing here reminds me of him (except for, you know, Layton, but I've managed to avoid it so far), so I'm able to finally move on.

I don't hate him every day. Indeed, most days I don't think about him at all. I have so many better things to do than think about the guy who broke my heart. But I had a dream about him last night. I don't know why he was in my brain enough to enter my dream, but that's the way it is. Which especially sucks because I had been having a dream about spending the day with a friend of mine that I particularly miss, Grace Lovelady.

And the minute I woke up my very first thought was I hate him today. Not a very particularly promising start to what turned out to be not a very particularly promising day. But that's just the way such things go.

Anyway, I have predictably thinking a lot about that boy I prefer to only call Jerk Face (especially on days that I hate him). I've been thinking, why did I ever even love him in the first place? So I did what I always do when I need to get away from particularly unpleasant thoughts: I spent most of the day reading.

The book I was reading (this thought is related, by the way, so just hold in there) was How Do I Love Thee by Nancy More. It was basically a novel depicting the romance between Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning. A romance I have known of all of my life (for obvious reasons, as I have been called Emily Barrett Browning several times) though never knew the exact details of. It was, put simply, amazing.

And yet it made me think about my own lack of romance. Elizabeth was 40 years old when she and Robert were married, which means of course that I have plenty of time to find that perfect romance. Which I know and understand. But reading about romance makes me want romance, in a way I simply can't explain. Yet, there is no romance in my life. Nor is there any chance of romance in my life for the next 26 days (that's when I go to Snow, my dad found out for me).

It also made me wonder how I ever managed to fall in love with Jerk Face in the first place. He has absolutely no skill with words. Often times he'd get so tongue twisted that he couldn't speak (which I, being blinded by love, found endearing), couldn't communicate what he needed to say. The romance between Elizabeth and Robert was one of words. For the first four months of their relationship their only way of speaking was through words, for they had not met. And the words they shared were so inspiring that it's little wonder that they fell in love.

Which begs the question, how did I--a woman (it feels so weird calling myself a woman, but I suppose that is what I am now) who loves the written word, who can only express her true feelings through the written word--fall for a guy who had absolutely no talent with words? Love is blind, I suppose.

This entry feels scattered, and I'm not sure I expressed my point the way I wanted to, but this is what has been on my mind today.