Jewish Nightmares
I took a lovely hike yesterday to Wallace Falls with Colin, Hillary, and a couchsurfer found on Hillary's couch that morning. The adventure was fun, and just the break from the city that all of us needed.
But in the aftermath of dropping Hillary and her plus one off, Colin idly commented that the new friend reminded him of a boy back in New York. You know, the intelligence and sense of humor, a city-slicker attitude that would still hike 2,000 feet in elevation in Keds on a moment's notice, the slightly unkempt jewfro and unmistakable nose.
Trust me, there are plenty of Jews and new yorkers floating around Seattle, so I didn't really see the similarity, but all of a sudden I started comparing people on the street to ones I knew back on the east coast. Could that haircut be...? That saunter looks familiar, maybe it's...?
I told Steve this morning that I had woken up from a nightmare and needed extra kisses before he jumped into the shower. I'm not sure if that was entirely accurate, since my dreams often blur the lines between memories and reality (This has always existed, but I blame my recent psychoanalysis on Inception). The "nightmare" was about the Jewish boy with the slight fro, big nose, and unmistakable intelligence, and his terrifying jew-mom, and our thwarted attempts to make love out of a doomed relationship.
I would like to assert that I have no bitterness about what did or didn't happen between Scott and I, but the reality is that I really would simply like to stop dreaming about it. There are plenty of other relationships that my subconscious could focus on, there are plenty of mistakes and triumphs that could love in my memory and haunt my dreams.
And maybe I would like to enjoy the dreams just a little bit less so that I can justify calling them nightmares.
But in the aftermath of dropping Hillary and her plus one off, Colin idly commented that the new friend reminded him of a boy back in New York. You know, the intelligence and sense of humor, a city-slicker attitude that would still hike 2,000 feet in elevation in Keds on a moment's notice, the slightly unkempt jewfro and unmistakable nose.
Trust me, there are plenty of Jews and new yorkers floating around Seattle, so I didn't really see the similarity, but all of a sudden I started comparing people on the street to ones I knew back on the east coast. Could that haircut be...? That saunter looks familiar, maybe it's...?
I told Steve this morning that I had woken up from a nightmare and needed extra kisses before he jumped into the shower. I'm not sure if that was entirely accurate, since my dreams often blur the lines between memories and reality (This has always existed, but I blame my recent psychoanalysis on Inception). The "nightmare" was about the Jewish boy with the slight fro, big nose, and unmistakable intelligence, and his terrifying jew-mom, and our thwarted attempts to make love out of a doomed relationship.
I would like to assert that I have no bitterness about what did or didn't happen between Scott and I, but the reality is that I really would simply like to stop dreaming about it. There are plenty of other relationships that my subconscious could focus on, there are plenty of mistakes and triumphs that could love in my memory and haunt my dreams.
And maybe I would like to enjoy the dreams just a little bit less so that I can justify calling them nightmares.