a spinster's tale

dearoldlove:

I didn’t want you to go, but I’m so glad you’re gone.

Maybe the ghost/demon/spirit/crackwhore living in my house can see my dreams as well. Why else was the thermostat turned up to 60 this morning when I turned it down to 50 last night?

I had a nightmare that I panicked, packed up a load of laundry, and drove out to Bufu, IL where S apparently lives in my alternate dream reality because I needed to wash my clothes at a laundry mat out there—some 40 miles from home.
Even inside of the dream, watching myself do this, I was thinking, “Rebekah…really? Is anyone going to buy the excuse of laundry? Why are you driving down his street a couple blocks away from the laundry mat—and parking—and getting out—AAHH!! STOP!!!”
There I was cruising down his street (in real life I’ve never been to his apartment and have no idea where it is and don’t care to know), parallel parking, getting out to “check” something in the car that I couldn’t while I was driving, dilly-dallying to hopefully get his attention if he was in his house…
Then I decided to leave, it wasn’t working, and I was feeling like an idiot. As I was getting back into the car I heard the sound of running feet and was grabbed from behind while at the same time “BWAH!!” was shouted in my ear.
I shrieked and whirled around to face him. His hair was grown out, which I hated, and he was wearing a black peacoat and dark jeans with a striped scarf around his neck.
“What’s up? What are you doing here?” he asked.
“You scared me!” I exclaimed and my eyes searched his face for something familiar and dear. But all I could think was how sickly he looked and how much I hated his long hair. He kept glancing back at the apartment across the street where was a large picture window covered by filmy curtains that you could see through.
“Let’s go!”
“Where? I’m going to do laundry—you’re staying here.” My plan had worked but now I didn’t want to be anywhere near him.
He gave me a doubtful look and hustled me into the car, wanting no argument about it. I tried to talk him out of coming along but it was futile. He got in and buckled his seatbelt, waiting for me to start the car and drive off.
“What about your girlfriend?”
He glanced over his shoulder and I followed the direction of his look—seeing her in the window just before the curtain fell back into place. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach came when I saw that she was wearing the scarf I knitted for him. I wanted to rant and rave at him about it but I couldn’t find the words to express how disappointed and hurt I was by it—after all, I had brought all of this on myself by not staying away.
He told me they were arguing and she didn’t have to know where we were going or what we were doing. I begged to differ but instead drove off.

We never reached the laundry mat. My car ran out of gas. I kept stopping and getting out. Somehow the dogs were with us sometimes and not the next. One time we were on a more country road, I stopped and he got out and Israel jumped out to run into the street. I grabbed him before he could get hit by a car or run off.

In the end nothing happened but it was there on his face and in his eyes that he wanted this meeting to end the same way as all the others. The thought made me sick to my stomach and I think he could read in my expression that I was desperate to not do anything with him but not strong enough to say no.

There’s significance in the running around, aimless, panicky feeling of the dream. Being near him should have made me happy but I just wanted to get away from him.

All of the joy and breathlessness of infatuation was gone.

Thank God.

Meanwhile in real life I almost talked myself into emailing him and calling him. I thought, “Wait…I can’t call him…but what harm would there be in emailing him?”
It took several moments for common sense to scream “DON’T DO IT!!!!” and I didn’t. Close call.
He’s been on my mind a lot lately—this time not reliving memories, but wishing that I could convince myself it would be worth it to see him for an hour and give him back his book. Trying to believe that that’s all that would happen, I would suffer no consequences, and it could be just a friendly little get-together. The past would stay in the past.
The present would be nothing but a good experience.

…

No, I’m not buying that, either.

inothernews:

Key snippets from this AP story, via the Miami Herald:

• “The new design has a base that’s more like a cup for dipping and also a tear-off end for squeezing, plus it holds three times as much ketchup than a traditional packet.”
• “Heinz sells more than 11 million cases of its ketchup packets in the U.S. every year and it will continue to sell the traditional packet. The new packet is in test markets in the Midwest and Southeast and will roll out at select fast-food restaurants in the fall.”

I’d say “finally” (because I’ve been saying for years that if sweet & sour sauce can come in a little 2 oz tub WHY NOT KETCHUP) but uh, Whataburger already has ketchup in practical 2 oz tubs. so. nice try, Heinz. my love stays with Whataburger.