Sleeping in for me is now like 6 or 7. I wonder if it’ll change back when I’m in my new job. I wonder when that will be.
I had weird dreams. I usually have weird or unpleasant dreams. I’m often arguing with someone.
Occasionally I have a nice dream about my mother, and I wonder if she’s visiting me.
My brain wants to be totally logical, but my heart is spiritual/ supernatural, so they’re always kind of at war with each other over what is real. But in my heart of hearts I believe in all kinds of things: God, miracles, ghosts.
Our house is older than dirt. I try not to think about the possibility that there are ghosts, here. But sometimes I can’t help it. If there are ghosts, I don’t think any of them in this house are vindictive, but it still freaks me out.
I think New Hampshire is full of ghosts. There’s so much history. Portsmouth actually has haunted tours you can go on. This is great, if you like to be spooked. I do not.
And I’m from Massachusetts. I lived in Salem for two years. You’d think I’d be all over this stuff. Nope. Especially not since my mother died.
For the first six months after she died, I was afraid to go to bed alone, because I was convinced I would see her ghost. This was problematic, because Derek rarely goes to bed at the same time as me. So I’d find myself staying up later to avoid an apparition. In retrospect I think I must’ve had PTSD.
My mother and I didn’t get along for years because she was unwell, and paranoid, so she was unable to really trust anyone. We were close when I was a little girl, but as soon as adolescence hit, and I became aware of her illness, our relationship was rocky at best.
But of course I always loved her, still love her. You love your parents, no matter what.
I miss her. She would have loved her grandchildren. It makes me sad that she’ll never know them. There’s a hole in my heart where she should be.
But my heart tells me she’s never far.