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While I was Dreaming
 
Welcome to The Dreamery. There have been a few changes, but my blog is still simply a random series of Thoughts and fantasies, examining my past and my impossible future. Nothing on this blog is a lie. When I say nothing that follows is made up you can be sure it is the truth. Even the dreams are real dreams that I have had . And all the fantasies are my real fantasies.


There are however some questions which may never be answered:
Is it possible to actually laugh your arse off?
How sick is a parrot?
Are sandboys truly happy?
And just how mad is a box of frogs anyway?

And mostly, I do have it all in perspective!
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I dreamed of making love
Posted:Apr 26, 2007 11:08 am
Last Updated:Apr 30, 2008 12:45 pm
2874 Views

I dreamed I was making love to my girlfriend from when I was seventeen, the one I called Liz in my post Basement Benefits but somehow we were both grown up too. It was wierd.

In the dream she invited me back to her parents house saying she had been thinking of me all week and wanted to be friends again. Then in that way dreams have, suddenly we were already in her bed, arms and legs twined about each other. Her perfect breasts were pressed against my chest and I slid a hand between us rubbing my palm against her hard nipples and she groaned and squirmed in extasy. The dream was full of the glorious feel of that first touch of skin on skin, the smell of warm aroused bodies and the exquisite tingling thrill of fingers and tongues exploring each other.

I kissed her stomach, then ran my tongue right down to her clit, where it stayed, pressing and licking her to a heavy orgasm. I didn't know how to do that back then but it seemed we had brought our teenage bodies with us into the present, and she responded like a woman who has been there many times. Then we lay together quietly and I hoped it would be my turn next.

Her mother came into the room but she was pleased to see me rather than surprised and sat on the bed and said how glad she was we were back together. She looked a little bit like my mother. This broke the spell, and I may even have awoken because in the next scene I was no longer so content. It was the next day and Liz's house now seemed to be just round the corner from where I live now. I wanted to go there but the dream kept getting stuck at the point where I was halfway across my road.

I tried to text her but I didn't have her cell phone number and I didn't think Liz would even know what a text was.

Then we were at a party but it was a fun fair too with a merry go round, roller coaster and an ice rink. I kept seeing her walk by but I couldn't say anything and she thought I was ignoring her. She looked fantastic on the ice skating and twirling a flowing skirt and wearing a white cotton shirt tied up Daisy Duke style. I spoke to her at last and was trying to steer the dream back in a happier direction but she and it kept drifting away from me.

Finally I woke up feeling a mixture of anxious and depressed, a real dream hangover. And yet it had started out so well. Bummer.
8 Comments
Pimping Peachie
Posted:Apr 25, 2007 8:38 am
Last Updated:Apr 26, 2007 2:19 am
2682 Views

I just read a funny post by hotpeach4u on the subject of cyber-sex, and I urge you to go and read it too: [post 822363] Poor Peachie!

I had a similar post, Cautionary Tale or Perfect Match which I know a few of you enjoyed. So your essay subject for the day is:
Compare and contrast. How far does Peachie's wellhung represent the fictional antithesis of Dreamer's Saturn5, and if he were less of a dimwit would there be a danger of him rivalling the hideous RedRawErection?
1 comment
Communication
Posted:Apr 24, 2007 7:32 am
Last Updated:Aug 13, 2007 6:23 am
2835 Views

I am not normally one to use my blog to preach, but I have to get this off my chest.
Talk to each other guys! Reading round the blogs I see so many comments and questions like "how do I know how he feels about me," or "why didn't he call" or "should I tell him I still love him or just let it go".......Stuff like that.

Well here's my view for what it is worth.
How is someone to know how you feel if you don't tell them? Most people on this site would be willing to tell their partners what they need to do to get them to orgasm, so why can't they talk about what they need emotionally? (And before anyone remembers that I have certain issues that need to be talked about, I should point out that in those cases it is not the talking that is the problem, it is what to do next! )

Something else: Why is it that so many people feel that all it takes is to find a special person to be their partner and then everything will be alright?
They are looking for somebody who is self possessed, confident, and has a real life of their own, but they forget that maybe they need to be like that themselves in order to be attractive. And then when they do find someone who has a life, they try to stop them doing the things they love, ("if you really loved me you would want to spend all day with me, not with your mates/at the football/gym/pub/shopping mall," ) and turn them into the kind of bland person they never would have fallen for in the first place. Then they wonder why their partner bores/doesn't understand them!
Rant over.
10 Comments
No Harold!
Posted:Apr 19, 2007 6:09 am
Last Updated:Apr 26, 2007 11:36 am
3126 Views

Nooooo! Harold, don't leave her in the car!!!!!!
11 Comments
The Dream
Posted:Apr 17, 2007 5:11 am
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2010 4:46 pm
2976 Views

Nothing which follows is made up.

A while ago I had a dream. Normally in dreams everything gets disjointed; you know who people are, but they look different. The story line wanders from plot to plot and when you wake up in the morning you know roughly what happened but the details are no longer clear. This dream wasn’t like that. It was as clear in my head as if it had all actually happened the day before. And it scared the hell out of me.

The scene is smalltown America. I am standing on the sidewalk of a broad downtown street flanked by quaint 19th century architecture and modern low-rise ribbon development. The sun is shining; it is some time around mid-afternoon. In front of me stands a beautiful woman, staring at me in horror and with tears welling up in her stunning blue eyes. She looks heartbroken.

In my dream I have a sense of the history leading up to this moment. We are..…have been, lovers. She brought me to life in a way I had begun to think would never happen to me again. And a little over a year ago I moved my whole life from the comfortable countryside and villages of England’s Wessex, to this big adventure in the States. What an adventure. I have been welcomed, loved and admired. I have worked, after a fashion, at my usual business, although I do not have the advantage of the long background in that field that I have here in England. She is so successful that money is never an issue, and I have been fully occupied by local voluntary projects. I have embraced America in every possible way, but my heart aches. I have just told her I am going home and will not be coming back.
“You have been so amazing,” I am saying, “but I just can’t do this any more. Every day I’m thinking about what’s going on back home; wanting to be there, the people, the places, the little country lanes; my life.”
“I thought your life was here now, with us.”
She always says “us,” meaning her , the little bundle-of-fun slip of nothing, who calls me “Dreamy” and has her mother’s eyes and has taken me to her heart.
“It was going to be,” I stumble on, “but this is tearing me up now. All the things I love doing, everything that makes me who I am is back there. I thought I could leave it behind, but I can’t. This isn’t me, and it’s beginning to change me. If I stay, in another year I won’t be the man you loved. You know I’m right, you’ve already been wondering if you made a mistake.”
Her tears are flowing harder. I can see that she recognises the truth in what I have just said, and the thought that I have already killed her love for me is almost too much to bear. I am holding on to my emotions by the thinnest of threads.
“I have to do this; for both of us,” I tell her, desperately.
Suddenly she fixes me with a steel glare, then says,
“I’m going to ask you a question and so help me God, you tell me the truth now.”
“Oh please, please don’t make this any harder for me,” I beg. But she is not one to back off.
“Are you leaving me, or leaving America?”
I don’t know what she means, but I can’t afford to think because I know I am dangerously close to changing my mind. She suddenly seems angry as well as upset, close to hysterical even, almost screaming at me as she repeats the question.
“IS IT BECAUSE OF ME?”
“I’m doing this for you!” I manage to blurt out and then I am crying too, uncontrolled shoulders-shaking tears streaming down my cheeks. “If I stay I’m going destroy myself and take you with me. I’ve got to do this, there is no other way.”
“But you still love me?”
I know I should be saying no, but I can’t bring myself to do it to her, so I instead I tell the truth and say,
“I love you like as if I was part of you, but it doesn’t make any difference.”
“Just stay right there.” She turns angrily and runs into the shop where her is trying on shoes with her best friend. I am standing there on the sidewalk, tears still smeared over my face, red eyes, everybody looking at me. I feel like everyone knows that I am a coward who can’t face up to the responsibilities I took on when I came here, who didn’t even have the guts to tell her at home where she could yell at me and throw things.

She comes out of the shop holding her ’s hand. I assume she is bringing her to say goodbye. My heart feels like a lump of lead.
“Now you tell Dreamer what you told me back there in the shop,” she says.
The looks up at me and then reaches out with her hand and says,
“I love you Dreamy.”
I simply can’t bear to even hear it, and turn my head away saying,
“Oh no, this isn’t fair! I never thought you of all people would try to use…”
She cuts me off, almost shouting:
“Shut Up! Just shut up a goddamn minute and let us finish!” Then to her gently,
“Go on sweetie.”
“I love you Dreamy and I want to come and live with you and Mom in England.”
I stand there for a moment taking in what has just been said. The traffic glides past on the street without making any sound. A bicycle, people shopping.
“But….I can’t ask you to come with me; your whole life is here…your job, her school, friends….her father for God’s sake!”
“He doesn’t want to know us any more. Listen to me Dreamer, I can do this for you, I can make this happen. I’m a just do it and never look back kind of person, you’re not. I should have known it wouldn’t work for you here, but you seemed so happy at first.”
“I was but…”
“It’s okay………Look, you’ve heard ‒ she wants to go. She’s an adventurer, like me. Let us do this for you Dreamer…..unless you don’t really want us?
And suddenly there it was. The choice. And for the first time in my whole life it seemed like an easy one.
“I want you so much I can hardly speak” I managed to whisper.

We walked through the afternoon sunshine arm in arm, like the happy little family we were going to be, and when we got to the house, she knelt down next to her and said,
“Now sweetie, go play in your room for a little while, huh? Dreamer’n me need a little bit of time on our own.”
She ran off happily, shouting “Kissies, yaaaay!” and laughing.
“She’s already beginning to think of you as her new father you know,” I heard my beautiful companion say, then she looked deep into my eyes and said,
“Don’t worry, you’ll make a wonderful father. Maybe, when we get to England, I should think about,” she paused, her eyes searching mine, “giving you a of your own to complete the family.”
Then she smiled, pushed a wisp of her silky blond hair out of her stunning electric blue eyes, linked her delicate fingers (with their perfectly manicured nails) through mine and led me into the bedroom.
9 Comments
Filth
Posted:Apr 13, 2007 12:01 pm
Last Updated:Jan 4, 2008 5:00 am
3277 Views

I know it can sound a bit derogatory, but I do find the acronym "MILF" (Mothers I'd Like to Fuck) rather descriptive especially when, as I have mentioned before, my neighbour's house seems to be chock full of them at the moment.

But it set me thinking, perhaps there should be an equivalent expression women can use for men; "FILTH" - Fathers I'd Like To Hump. What do you think?
12 Comments
Who Am I?
Posted:Apr 6, 2007 6:33 am
Last Updated:Jul 2, 2007 5:45 am
2781 Views

Who is Dreamer?

Maybe this will help:

I am 47. I feel like a twenty-seven year old with the attitude of an eighteen year old who thinks he's stuck inside the body of a thirty-seven year old who looks forty-three but aches enough to be sixty!

No help?

No wonder I sometimes have a bit of a split personality! LOL

Life is good, sometimes it is even easy, but it is never straight forward!
11 Comments
I haven't Forgotten You
Posted:Apr 5, 2007 1:42 am
Last Updated:Apr 13, 2007 1:02 pm
2707 Views

Hi everyone. I just wanted to let you know that I am still here.

I have had a lot of work recently, and been busy doing loads of other stuff too, plus I couldn't think of anything to blog about, but I haven't forgotten you guys. I hope you are all well and maybe we'll catch up after Easter - I am away for a few days here and there over the next week or so. I need to catch up and find out how Kizza's trip went, whether ff4 has had enough sex yet and if Sassi's toyboy is still alive! What's cooking at Romy's house I wonder, and is Rose still flirting with Willhe?

Also I was reading Evy's blog about her dream recently, and I think it is time to post my big dream from a few months ago! Just give me time to change the names to protect the innocent and it will be here!
3 Comments
What do you call an Englishman?
Posted:Mar 26, 2007 4:53 am
Last Updated:Jun 26, 2007 9:18 am
3265 Views

I was asked by Evy53, who is from the US on my last post, how British people refer to themselves and their countries, and as I was answering it I liked the way it came out and also it had a couple of minor mistakes in it so I am reposting an edited version here just for a bit of fun information for my many good friends from The Wrong Continent.

Tabitha, Tich and Missmaybe will not of course need to read it. But I hope they will anyway!


The reason you as an American have trouble with what to call my country is because, like most things we are a bit unnecessarily complicated about it ourselves!

I usually call the constituent parts of the UK by their country names - England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. (Ireland, as opposed to Northern Ireland, is part of the group of islands known as the British Isles, but is not part of Britain and the UK; it is a separate country in its own right.) Are we clear so far?

We are all British, but some of us are also English, (me,) Irish, (Pierce Brosnan,) Scottish, (The Chancellor Of the Exchequer and possible future Prime Minister Gordon Brown,) and Welsh, (Shirley Bassey, Tom Jones, Catherine Zeta Jones and my mate Jonesy from the male voice choir.., they can't half sing well, the Welsh.) Those who are born to the outlying regions of the country understandably get a bit snippy if you call them English or say they live in England, when in fact they are Scottish or Welsh, but they are mostly proud to be British and happy to have their country referred to as "Great Britain." (Please note the "Great" in there. It is nothing to do with our former pretensions to Empire, it is to include Scotland and the Isle of Man, as historically, Roman Britain only included the southern mainland countries, and is not now a country at all!) If you talk about the UK you are talking about The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, but these days “Britain” is used as a simple synonym.

In Northern Ireland the situation is further complicated by the fact that some of the people are proud to be British, but others would prefer to be part of Eire, (also known as Southern Ireland) and have nothing more to do with the British. (There are some Scots and Welsh who would like to be independent too, and have recently managed to get themselves regional parliaments or assemblies while they are at it but we are straying into politics here!)

In all areas there is a certain amount of regional rivalry, especially in a sporting context, but we can’t bear to keep this simple either. We compete in the Olympics as Great Britain, but we send separate English, Scottish and Welsh teams to the football (“soccer” World Cup. At rugby however the whole of Ireland fields an “Irish” rugby side, which draws players from the south and the north despite the fact that they are actually separate countries and compete separately at everything else. Even the British Olympic team does not include anyone from the south of Ireland.

Inevitably if you call a Welshman English or say that you think England is a lovely country, he is not going to like it and will start on some mad rambling about how wonderful it is back home in the valleys. The Scots are notoriously nostalgic about home when they have emigrated, (and an awful lot of them have,) but it is not really surprising; some of Scotland is heartbreakingly beautiful and the Celts can be an emotional lot when they have had a few. And underneath it all is a great deal of historical animosity harking back to some not very edifying times in British history when the English did perpetrate some pretty hideous atrocities on the inhabitants of the hillier parts of the country ‒ the Highland Clearances; failure to properly look after the Irish during the Potato Famine; coal mining etc. etc. to name but a few.

Then of course there are second and third generation Britons who’s families originated in the old colonies; India, Australia, The Carribean etc. Some new immigrants may have British nationality, but are NOT English Scottish Welsh or Irish, whilst others may look like foriegners but are really as English as I am! Now that is something Americans really should be able to understand!

So there you are; if you want to play safe call the country the UK and refer to us all as British, but if you want to talk like an Englishman, call the individual inhabitants by reference to the name of their own country.

Just never call a Scotsman "Scotch," because that is a drink!
6 Comments
Life On Mars
Posted:Mar 22, 2007 10:26 am
Last Updated:Apr 13, 2007 1:23 pm
3288 Views

In “Life on Mars” Sam Tyler has an accident and wakes up solving crimes in 1973. Is he in a coma? Or is it real? Whatever it is he is there for a reason. Maybe if he can work out what it is he can find his way home.

With a great pop/rock score, it is a wonderful period piece TV series; half spoof, half serious police drama, destined for cult status. I love it. Watching it has reminded me about all kinds of things I had forgotten about growing up in the seventies. The music is the key…….

From 1971 to 1973, long before Oasis versus Blur, but after the Beatles and the Stones, it was Slade versus Mark Bolan and T Rex. I loved them both, but T Rex became timeless; it’s Slade that has the evocative power now, especially the less heard songs; “Cos I Luv You,” “How Does it Feel,” “Take Me Bak Ome.” We had big flares and stripy tank-tops and even if you didn’t follow fashion you had to turn on Top of the Pops every week just to see what Dave Hill was wearing. Barking mad he was, the Godfather of Glam-Rock, he inspired me to play the guitar, thank goodness I only laughed at his clothes! “Have you seen Her” was by the Chi-lites and no one would have known what an MC was; Hammer had probably only just been born, but he must have modelled his gold lame pants on something of Dave Hill’s.

You could buy a wagon wheel for three and a half new pence in the school tuck shop where a guy called Rupert played Roxy Music and John Kongos’ “Tokoloshi Man” during the lunch break. He lent me that record the year he left school and I’ve still got it somewhere, I wonder what happened to him, he was a great cricketer.

By 1974 the less educated were all dressed in their best brown baggies and their platform soles, but for me it was Levis and cowboy boots - I had pretentions of being a throw back to flower power ‒ it seemed like ancient history to me but really it was only five years since Woodstock.

I remember listening to radio Luxembourg, the great 208, at night under the bedclothes. Gladys Knight was in the charts for endless weeks with “The Way We Were,” making me long for the past before I even had one to long for. The sound used to fade in and out, and nobody knew or cared who Peter Styversant was.

By seventy five I was fifteen, going to parties and thinking about girls, dancing to Van McCoy and the Hustle, and stuff by Hamilton Bohannon whoever the hell he was. I slow danced with Jill to Santana’s “Samba Pa Ti” at the end of the night, she was eighteen and gorgeous and it gave me a hard on she must have been able to feel, but she just smiled at me and hugged me closer. If only I had known then what I know now……My only guide as to how to seduce women was Barry White, and I knew that kind of stuff was never going to work for me!

Starsky and Hutch was on TV; girls were divided into those who liked Starsky (sexy and cool) and Hutch, (insipid) and I bought one of those chequered, tight fitting, stud buttoned, brushed cotton shirts and grew out of it in about six weeks! The Dukes of Hazard was awful but I still watched it because of Daisy Dukes legs and I laughed at Sheriff Rosco, Boss Hogg and Enis. People who have only seen the re-make don’t know what they are missing.

Star Wars, Manhattan and Love Story were on at the cinema, and it wouldn’t be long before Dallas hit the TV screens and made a direct link to the eighties. “She’s dirt daddy, dirt!”

Disco passed me by other than for dancing at the time, but now I remember there was some wonderful music; Heatwave, The O’Jays, Earth Wind and Fire, The Real Thing and Tramps. When I hear them now I remember the revolving glitter ball on the ceiling, the girls in their skin tight pre-lycra jeans, the coloured lights; a good disco just said SEX in big letters, and I wanted to be part of that.

Back in the world of music I loved at the time, in 1976 and 77 Thin Lizzy began to hit the charts, my favourites were “The boys are Back in Town” and “Waiting for an Alibi,” but my girlfriend liked “Dancing in the Moonlight,” she said it reminded her of me walking her home through the empty streets of Oxford at three a.m. after the night we first made love. The summer went on for ever, she had golden brown hair and sparkling eyes and I have never forgotten her.

Punk hit the world so hard it would never feel the same again, suddenly flares were completely out; I could cope with having to wear drainpipe jeans, but no one would ever get me to have my lip pierced or vomit on the stage! At first I didn’t understand the music at all. Why did it mean I suddenly had to hate Led Zeppelin and the Stones? Looking back it was the start of a new era, childhood was over, and in his own way Johnny Rotten was telling me how unfair life was for people who hadn’t had the cushy upbringing I had been blessed with. He never realized that life was not supposed to be fair and you can’t force people to help you make it. Even so, he saw the fundamental fact of youth that Audrey Niffenegger describes in that book, “The Time Traveller’s Wife” - sometimes you just have this feeling that things aren’t right and the only thing you can do is say FUCK IT over and over again until someone stops you. In later life I would find comfort in yelling “we’re so prettay we’re oh so prett-ay……. we’re va-aycunt…….. and we don’t CARE.”

But back in the middle of the seventies everything seemed so simple, there was no aids, “safe” meant not getting pregnant, war was all in the past and the future was all going to be love and happiness. And for me, mostly it has been……
8 Comments
Still Looking for The Lioness
Posted:Mar 16, 2007 5:51 am
Last Updated:Nov 4, 2008 4:16 am
3880 Views

Some of you know that I used to be in love with a woman I called “The Lioness"................. I love to describe how I felt for her. She was gorgeous in mind and body, had a sexy twinkle in her blue-grey eyes, and made me feel like the most wonderful man that had ever lived.

But cutting a long story short one day she told me it was over, and I have never understood why. Even her best friend at the time told me that she thought she was really still in love with me, but had decided to end it because she thought that was what would be best for her in the long term. That was one of her strengths; if she made a decision, she stuck to it.

One of my weaknesses has been living in the past ‒ I have always done it, even when I didn’t have that much of a past to live in! I have moved on several times, tried to consign The Lioness to the past ‘til I don’t know how to try anymore, and still, somewhere inside, I long for her. Or, these days, I long at least for release from her.

Mostly it doesn’t stop me being happy. But when it does affect me I feel guilty because I have been so lucky and my life is rich and full of fun and I can do whatever I like. But sometimes I feel like I have wasted the last fifteen years, maybe longer. When it comes to big decisions I never know which is the right direction for me to take and time is running out, because although I am fit and heathy, I am not so young any more and I don’t know how to be older and I don’t want to be. (Does that sound like a mid-life crisis? God, I hope not, at least I haven’t felt the need to rush out and buy a fast car or sleep with younger women………..Well I would sleep with younger women like a shot obviously, but that has nothing to do with how I feel, I mean it’s not new; it’s just my usual, lustful self! Lol.)

Not long ago I was watching that film “Message in a Bottle” with Kevin Costner, the one where he can’t get over his love for his dead wife, even though he falls in love with someone new, and that set me off. As happy as I can be sometimes, this pain is still buried deep inside me and I don’t know how to get past it. Costner can always do that to me, I think it is because I saw “Dances with Wolves” with The Lioness not long before we split up, and I cried at the end, the first time I had really cried in twenty years probably, and she held my head and shushed me and tried to understand me - I didn’t know what I was crying about then, except maybe it was for the atrocity committed against the American Indians, and for Wind-in-his-hair shouting “I will always be his friend,” for my dead father and for all the wrong in the world and for my wrong turn in life.

It is as if I took that wrong turn and from then on I was never going to be able to get back onto the right track. I don’t even know any more how much of the pain comes from what I felt for The Lioness and how much was there already. I am OK again now. And yet of course I am not OK. I worry that this will go on for the rest of my life, all the time under the surface, never feeling I am truly being who I want to be.

So on a couple of occasions I have tried to contact The Lioness, to try to get “closure” for want of a better word. Or feeling that at least if I had some knowledge of what she is doing, was in touch enough to send a Christmas card etc. I might finally be able to let these memories go. Or a least see them as nothing more than that ‒ great memories. The first time, we spoke briefly on the phone. She said she was busy, but that it would be OK if I called another time. But I had scared myself and I never did. Now her number has changed and is ex-directory. So recently I wrote her a letter, (I blogged about it if you recall,) but I have not had a reply, and I didn’t know what to do about that because part of what I wrote was “if you don’t want me to try to contact you, at least reply to this saying so, and then I won’t.”

Yesterday a good friend came up with an idea. I should send one of those fun multiple choice cards with tick box options, like
“I didn’t receive your letter.”
“Please never contact me again>”
“I would be happy to chat, (*Insert appropriate phone number or email.)”
“Come and knock on my door at midnight wearing nothing but a smile.”

Well perhaps not the last one, but you get the idea! LOL. I can send it to her parents’ address, I know they still live there, to make sure she will definitely get it. Even the never contact me again option might help me, but if she would talk, I really feel it would make me realize that what we had really is in the past.

What do you guys think? How would you react if you got a letter like that from someone you probably knew had always been in love with you? She may be scared I will cause trouble, she may be frightened I would stir up her old feelings. She may be wondering what I am doing but think she ruined my life once, she’s not about to do it again…..I have tried leaving well alone; it hasn’t helped. So maybe it is time to meddle?
15 Comments
Not My Last Post
Posted:Mar 15, 2007 11:53 am
Last Updated:Apr 13, 2007 1:23 pm
2661 Views

Wow, a week has gone by and I have not said a word. Wouldn't it have been ironic if my last post had been one complaining that all my friends had given up blogging!

But that wasn't my last post. I have been busy and I have a life!

Plus I have been unable to think of things to say. I thought I had my feelings about the Lioness in perspective, but now I find them raising their heads from the darkness of my sub-concious and crooning, "We are still here, what are you going to do about us?" So I have a new plan and I will blog about what happens.
Then I was driving back from a friends today and someone was talking about Barney on the radio. I know Kizza has a new Barney post, so I will be checking that out, maybe it will inspire me.

I have also been asked to write up a post which is to be titled, "Dreamer's Crucial Crumpet Checklist," a light hearted look at my idea of the perfect woman!

Then there is "Life on Mars." For those who don't know, life on mars is a TV semi-spoof police drama in which a guy from today is accidentally flipped back in time to 1973. Watching it the other day reminded me that once on Rose's blog (may it rest in peace ) she had a post aboutr growing up in the eighties. Well I grew up in the seventies, so I thougtht I would do something similar. Maybe if I think hard enough I can come up with another "none of what follows is made up" post, I know they have been some of my best writing.

It is all up there in my head, waiting to be written, I just have time issues at the moment. But watch this blog, posts are coming.
One day!
4 Comments
Farewell to Bloggers - The Dreamer Jinx?
Posted:Mar 8, 2007 6:41 am
Last Updated:Apr 26, 2007 11:36 am
3219 Views

Nooooo, Not ME!

I did say I would be blogging less, but that's just 'cos I'm busy, have a full life, and can't always think of anything to say!

But suddenly everyone else is leaving. First it was partygirl. Then it was prettysexydoll.
But since then so many of my blog friends have either left the site, or stopped or cut down on their blogging. I am beginning to worry that I am somehow jinxed!

Jake last posted some time around Christmas. Rose has dismantled her blog, (funflirty4u said she would be blogging less, but I still can't keep up with her!) softasaswan has just completely disappeared, flimflam is leaving and I only met her last week. Now amakamaria has posted a farewell on her blog, and florallei says she will not be writing anymore posts. What is going on? I guess most people (well, everyone really, Lol) is better at moving on than I am, and people's reasons for blogging or being on AdultFriendFinder can change, the need can run its course. And real life must take precedence.

Maybe I don't understand because this is me on here. Ok I don't tell you my real name, but nothing in my blog is made up, so in a way this is part of my real life. I was a bit obsessed for a while, but "I have it all in perspective" now - I am not possessed by the desperate desire to draw more comments or worried by the imagined need to keep up to date with everyone even when I don't have time. Maybe one day I will understand.......maybe I am too emotional, but at the moment, everytime someone leaves, it hurts, like a friend leaving town.

Someone said recently that even blogland people, though they may be just glimpses of people, have feelings we may not be aware of. They see our blogs as sources of continuity and stability when the rest of their lives are in turmoil. They may want to sleep with us, but because they can't, they leave comments on our blogs instead. So when we leave we should let them down gently. For the most part my blogfriends have done that. But I still miss them.

Please raise an on-line glass to amakamaria, florallei redrose and the others, and join me in thanking them for their wonderful and sadly missed blogs.
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