Home > rayne > Me? I’m a runner.

Me? I’m a runner.

December 29th, 2009

TooManyPeopleRunningAwayI’ve been dreaming a lot about being kidnapped, chased, murdered, tortured.  And not the fun kinds of any of those.

Not that there’s a “fun kind” of being murdered.  But you know what I mean.

I’m not objective about my dreams because occasionally, they’re prophetic.  Whether they’re occasionally prophetic because I have some psychic ability, or because everyone gets it right sometimes, I don’t know.  And I don’t really care.  It is what it is.  What I do know is I don’t like that I keep dreaming about these terrible things.

M says things like “See, I’d figure that was some kind of warning.  It wouldn’t scare me.”

But it scares me.  Because a) My memory’s shot and I don’t always remember that I dreamed about something until it unfolds completely (which makes it difficult to prevent anything bad that happened in my dream) and b) Sometimes, they’re allegorical rather than exact.  I mean, not so much so that I’m reaching to connect them.  Just enough that I don’t understand them until after whatever I dreamed about happens.

Last night was equally better and worse.  I remember three of my dreams.  One, though, was utterly bizarre.  Or, at least, for me it was a bizarre dream.  The only part I remember – the only time I was lucid enough during this dream to remember – was opening my eyes to find the barrel of a .357 Magnum in my face, me yelling “Michelle!”, and then seeing and hearing the gun explode.  I don’t even know which Michelle was shooting me, or if they were even shooting me or I was just an innocent bystander.  I know at least half a dozen Michelles.  And none of them have a reason to want me dead.

Or maybe they do, and I just can’t fathom it.  I’m often doing fucked up things and not realizing it until Master says, “Whoa.  That was kinda fucked up.”  Common sense: I haz none.  So, seriously? Feel free to call me on my shit.  I know I have a lot of it.

Something else I’m noticing about my dreams, though, is that they all have Master in them now.  I mean, I have sex dreams about Him.  Everyone has sex dreams about their partner, I’m sure.  But my other dreams… The nightmares and the dreams that aren’t sex dreams? They usually don’t have anyone I know in them unless they’re gonna come true.  Sometimes, in my dreams, I don’t even know anyone I know in real life.  Never have, never will.  So that Master is in every single dream I have now, either in presence or in mind (as in, dream me knows Dream Master’s standing in the next dream room, or whatever), is a strange development.  Not a bad one! Just not one I understand.

Aww! Master’s the man of my dreams. ~tear~ 

The other two dreams seemed connected to each other, but were in different locations.  One was in my grandparents’ house in Jersey, though I’m not sure it was my grandparents’ house anymore.  The other was in the woods… somewhere.

In the Jersey house, I was laying in bed in a room decorated mostly in white.  The pale yellow sun was shining through the sheer white curtains and I was snuggled down under the blankets.  Master had just left the room, after telling me to wake myself up and placing my hand between my legs (so you know it was a dream), when my father stepped in the doorway.  My last thoughts, before waking up in the real world, was how grateful I was for fluffy comforters and who the fuck left the door open?

There was danger in the air, though.  Like something bad was lurking in the next room.  And I remember checking the clock after Master kissed me awake (in the dream) and starting to panic.  We’d overstayed our welcome, somehow, and needed to leave right then.  But Dream Master wasn’t worried, so I calmed down a little.

In the woods, there were probably six or seven of us.  The only other person I recognized from real life was Master.  We were simultaneously running from and to two different somethings.  If we got to the second something before the first something caught up with us, we’d be okay.  It was late morning and the sun was shining through the trees beautifully.  The calm in the forest was almost enough to calm my nerves.  We’d already slowed to a walk, thinking we’d put enough space between us and our pursuer(s), when suddenly we came upon a huge canvas platform tent in a tree.

It was a good ten feet overhead and had well hidden hand and footholds nailed up along the trunk.  It was kind of comical, really.  This ginormous canvas tent, virtually unmissable, with hidden hand and footholds.  Like no one would think to look for them, or something.

When Master and I got up there, we found an altar of liquor bottles, clothes everywhere, some candles, a flashlight, a couple books…  The inside looked like someone had been there recently and tried to make it look like no one had been there in ages.  Aside from the scattered clothes, there was no dirt or dust or cobwebs inside.  The seemingly brand new  liquor bottles, all at varying levels of fullness, were lined up neatly on top of a sturdy cardboard box.  And there was an unlit candle in the middle of them.  It looked sort of like the box was the tent’s inhabitant’s table and desk.

The rest of the group, except one guy who followed Master and I up to the tent, was inspecting a bunch of food left on a picnic table nearby.  They were excited.  We were all hungry.

And that’s when it all seemed entirely too perfect.  And I started to freak out.  And while the guy who followed us into the tent was telling Master that there was room for all of us to sleep up there and that we had plenty of time to rest, I started fighting my way to the entrance of the tent and screaming that we had to go.  Now.  Ten minutes ago, if possible.  And get your fucking hands out of that icebox.  You have no idea who left that food.

And then I woke up.

It’s always the same basic concept.  We’re running.  Away from… something.  Something that will be bad for us.  It’s never really a question of good or evil, so much as survival.  There’s never any sense of which side of the spectrum we fall on, just that we’re trying to survive.  What’s chasing us wants to kill us, or hurt us, but there’s no real sense of why.

It makes me want to pack up Master and the birds and just go.  And not tell anyone where we’re going.

But we can’t.  We’d never survive.  At least, not honestly.

And maybe that’s all it is.  Maybe I’ve just been in one place for too long.  I’ve been running my whole life.  Do something stupid and get embarrassed? Quit your job and move.  Decide all your friends suck? Quit your job and move.  Make an enemy that might destroy any friendships you have? Quit your job and move.

That’s one of the hardest parts of this being owned by a mature, responsible adult business.  And part of the reason I’ve never had a relationship last more than seven months straight through, much less seven years.  Instead of facing my mistakes and trying to fix them, I ran.

I try to do that with Master, and He tightens my leash and digs in His heels.  He’s taken to throwing me to the floor and sitting on me when we’re fighting and I start eying the door.  It’s never an “I’m going away forever!” thing.  More an “I need to get out of this house for a minute.” thing.  But even that is not something He’s willing to give.  Because when things stop making sense, I’m impetuous, unpredictable and sometimes uncontrollable.  So He sits on me until I stop fighting.

But it’s been ages since we’ve fought like that.  It’s been at least a month since, mid-argument, His words stopped making sense and reality started warping at the edges.  Now, instead of retreating inside myself, I actually listen to Him and counter with intelligent, well thought out responses.  Or, you know, just apologize if I’m out of line.  It’s almost like I’m becoming an adult! Wtf?

I get frustrated or annoyed or pissed off and I just… tell Him.  And then we… talk about it.  And then things get resolved!

Or I embarrass myself by doing something utterly retarded, and go hide in the bedroom, and He follows me.  And makes fun of me until I’m laughing, too.  Unless it was something that goes against His rules.  And then we talk about it and I am punished.  And then it gets resolved!

It’s amazing how resilient a relationship is if you just put a little effort into it rather than taking off every time the water gets a little rocky.

It’s not really all that surprising that it took being involved with someone I want to make an effort with to realize that.

I think, for a while, I fell into the same rut we all do on occasion.  That place where we start to think that a relationship with Prince(ss) Charming should be effortless.  Perfect.  A constant state of bliss.  And that’s just non-existent.

I think part of it’s because my parents, pre-divorce, always made life seem so effortless.  They never argued or discussed problems in front of us kids.  And while it was a noble effort on their part to protect us from the dark side of life, it set my sister and I up for failure in our relationships.  It made us believe that true love is perfect and soul mates never fight.  It convinced us that Mr. Right’s eyes will never wander and his dick will never stray.  That love never dies and families always stay together no matter what.

But once I let go of that “Mr. and Mrs. Perfect” image (The Mrs. Perfect image, especially.  I do, without a doubt, have a perfection complex.), things just sort of started sliding into place.

Wow.  I’m rambling.  A lot.

Anyway… To sum it all up: My dreams are weird.  I’m a runner.  And I’m finally starting to learn what being in a relationship’s all about.  And I think that’s all pretty friggin cool.

Shut up.  It so doesn’t matter that it’s taken me seven years.  I’m figuring it out.  That’s what’s important.

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