My subconscious has a wicked sense of humor. All my life I've insisted I have intuitive powers -- none that can be demonstrated, but I'm always right there ready to predict something, just in case. One day I'll be right, and then all you nay-sayers will have to eat crow.
Like my high school friends, who pay no mind to my warnings to take care, after I've had a horrible dream involving them and heavy machinery. Or my friend Renee, whom I've spent countless years bestowing my predictions and warnings upon, only to end up having it kick me in my own ass.
I had called her about a week and a half ago just to chat, and got voicemail. Since I didn't leave a message, and since she is an avid reader of le blog and saw that I was no longer on Prozac, she immediately assumed I was preggers, and left me a message declaring just that. Since I was late, I had to wait until I did start (whew!) to call her back, afraid to jinx myself and prove her right. This is what I do. I don't claim "crazy" for nothin', y'all.
Anyway, last night Shawn and I got into it after he arrived home from doing inventory at 2:45 am. The man keeps leaving earlier and earlier so he can get it done earlier, and yet keeps getting home later and later. Rolling over and falling asleep fuming, I ended up dreaming that I got shot and was dying, begging him to tell me the truth -- was he cheating on me, and did he ever really love me? His reply?
"I've been seeing Juan for quite some time now, Amy. I'm a homosexual. Please don't tell anyone." Ha! My subconscious' idea of revenge!! (or, it could just be that we've been talking about that subject alot lately, given Jax's affinity for dress-up clothes and Barbies, and my affinity for teaching him to say 'I'm a pretty, pretty princess'. Whatever, it was funny in my dreams, and even funnier when I told him about it this morning, though he didn't really laugh.
*disclaimer: my husband is very manly, very athletic and very very straight. Not that it matters.*