Guilty dreams


I’m so damn tired. Run down. My body has been crushed under the weight of massive amounts of pleasure and now, I feel broken. Good broken, though. Like the kind your body feels after hard labor.

I had a very guilt-ridden dream last night that my son and one of the girl’s from his class were snooping around in my room and found all my lingerie and sexy bras and panties. They brought them to me and threw them down in a pile at my feet, completely disgusted with me, tears in their eyes. “Is this who you are? Is this the only thing that you have to offer the world? Is this what you are teaching you’re children?!” I stared down at them and the pile, dumbfounded and somewhat ashamed. I tried to come up with some smart response. But nothing. “Stay out of my stuff” I said. And I locked myself in my room.

I’m assuming this comes after a talk I had last night with D. I often think in terms of black and white when it comes to intimacy. I sometimes see ideas and “acts” as tarnished or pure, dirty or clean. Nothing in between. But is sex so black and white? I hope not. I hope, after all these years of living under the oppressive beliefs of the Roman Catholic church that taught me to think this way, that I can overcome this type of thinking for a more Taoist one. I’m surprised at myself for not having overcome it yet. I do believe that virtually anything can be seen as good and beautiful when there are huge amounts of love and trust between two people, as well as a shared interest in the same kinds of stuff.

But anyway, the dream very well may run deeper than I’m admitting. I suppose more or less I am questioning the very fabric of my being. Who am I? What do I have to offer the world? What am I teaching my children? Hopefully I am worth more and giving more than the sum of my underwear drawer.

oh pleasure. oh guilt.

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