My heart hurts today.
Dreamed of E again last night but as more of an arrogant hunk than he ever was in real life- tossing his waist length curly locks. He wasn't interested. I don't know why he haunts my dreams like this.
I been thinking about that attraction. Some part of me misses it; longs to be the Groupie again. I want to be Columbia, want to be Harley, want to have a dark and dangerous boy to lead me astray. To leave the world behind and break the law, uncaring what the world thinks, only listening to our own hearts and loins. To be Bonnie and Clyde.
But then there's the other side of me-the side that's always been lurking but that creeps to the surface more and more. The part that wants to be aloof and slick, androgynous and mysterious. To have a twinkle in my eye that makes beautiful women fall at my feet.
I want to BE the dangerous boy.
So what does one do when you are a 38 year old housemum who dreams of being Clyde, not Bonnie?
I wake up and look in the mirror and see what I have been given, or rather what I have been left to work with...and I die inside again.
Once more I resolve to do the best with all the good things I have: a loving husband; an amazing child; a roof over my head; my health; some wonderful friends. And I hope once again those things can all make up for my not having myself.
I am now (just) past the age that Lucy Jordon was when she climbed naked onto her roof, driven mad by being trapped as a wife and mother. I hope her unlived dreams are sustaining her now in her white room.
I wish I could send her some flowers...
