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Dreams affect my day. If I have a good dream, I wake up smiling (I’d say “whistling” if I knew how without spitting all over myself and those in close proximity). Good dreams mean I sing along with the radio on the drive to work and wear a smile through a good portion of the day.

If the dream is bad, I’m a grumpy puss. At the heart of the grumpy puss is an amused woman who logically understands what is going on and is humored that her entire day is ruined because her dream-grandmother forgot how to walk and had to lean on her to stay upright, squishing her in the process. (Yes, that was a real dream. I have no memory of it, but I tend to email my mom about my “something happened to my nani” dreams. I emailed Mom about Jac-as-walking-cane three years ago.)

But last night I had the dream that sticks with me the most: the ex-boyfriend dream. There are only two exes who tend to make appearances in Dream Land, and last night’s star was the guy who, once upon a time, quite literally haunted my dreams multiple times per week the first year after our final, final breakup (there were many breakups). In fact, the dreams got so bad that I eventually emailed him and apologized for any hurt feelings I my have caused. This conscience-cleaning caused the dreams to decrease in frequency by a good 90 percent.

Maybe it’s because this fellow just got married last month, and I’ve been thinking about him and our group of mutual friends from high school (none of whom I’ve kept in contact with). Or maybe it’s because, no matter what happens, he will forever be camped out in my hippocampus (the part of our brain that deals in emotional memory, and one of my favorite words of all time). Who among us has ever forgotten a first love the way other beaus can slip from our brains?

All I know is on the drive to work, the radio stations tried to put a sound track to my Memory Lane stroll, and it did a shockingly good job (“Picture,” “Who Knew“). Creeeepy.

These ex dreams weird me out so much, I think, because I’m so blissfully happy with Jeff. I’m in the kind of relationship I always wanted to be in, and I’m not taking advantage of any bit of it. I think daily how lucky I am to be so in love with such a glorious man. So what it is about my twisted and fucked up psyche that keeps fanning the memory waves about crappy relationships and what it’d be like to see these people again?

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