Nora Kinkaid Wants Her Life Back

Dreams

Weird dreams. Even weirder that Oliver is moving to New York or Tom is? Someone is. When talking about it in therapy yesterday, she came in full force. I am not saying I am choosing this. But I am curious within reason. For instance, what is going to play out has my curiosity peaked. Even if it is not Oliver it could be a better man and that would be exciting.

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I got the sensation that New York was once again on his agenda for the month of March. It could just be another wrong channel. Time and dates really don't vibe with channeling exercises. But then again, none of this really vibes. It's just a blurt it all out type of deal. Try not to blame me. The electrodes tracking my brain activity really keep me grounded.

Now I never dream about Oliver. I can't do it. I've tried and I can't. Anytime I try to call his face forward it's black. I can see his body, his shape. But I can never see his face. So I was surprised when I had a vision that was crystal clear. In the vision I get a text from him. It's lengthy and I'm surprised by it. It says something along the lines of "hey, we've broken up and I've been doing a lot of thinking. I've moved to New York recently and would like to see you. I think I made a huge mistake can we try again?"

In the vision, I read the text and I smile inwardly. I ask him where he's living and I go to his apartment. I can see the entire layout. It's on the east side of Manhattan. Somewhere walkable to me. He opens the door and his kitchen is on the left. He has a sectional toward the back on the right. His TV is on a stand and he has a plant. His bedroom is to the left just past the kitchen and when I peak into his room I see white sheets and one of those radiators that sticks out from the wall. He doesn't have any art work up yet but he has just finished putting together his kitchen table. His record player sits in the corner. It's one of the only things he's unpacked.

I don't hug him hello. I walk straight into his apartment and pull my bag over my head since it's a crossbody. I take off my coat and throw it over a chair. Then and only then do I turn to him and say "Did you really mean what you said?" and he looked at me so earnestly. He nods before he starts explaining and I don't care. I'm already across the room planting a kiss on him. I tell him we'll figure everything out later. It will all be okay. We kiss and I cry and suddenly it feels like I'm home again. It all makes sense again. Like we made it out the other side.

But that's just a vision. That's not reality. Reality is me sitting on my couch last night watching the new Netflix rom com. I have moved from my bed. I should have told you that. Sometime around Christmas in our storytelling journey I found the strength to move to the couch. Anyway, they told me not to watch TV with the EEG wires. But what else am I supposed to do? I'm already on day five of the migraine. At what point do you say, "fuck it" and go about your business? I was sick as a dog this morning. I can't really see straight and the buzzing sound of the lights in the room are stirring my blood. But hey, for first time in weeks I'm wearing something resembling real clothes.

Anyway as I was saying, a vision isn't reality. Reality was me texting him telling him I was thinking about him during the movie. He waited until this morning to respond and asks how I am. Oliver is all business. When I say he doesn't love me, this is how I know. It's so polite he uses my first name. Nora. He says. Hi Nora.

People only use first names when they want you to leave them the hell alone. In fairness to me it has been months since we spoke. It didn't seem that odd to text him. He had told me after the wedding fiasco that he would like if I call just to check in once and awhile. That he would like if I showed some semblance of care about his life. So this was me trying to do that. I was trying to show care. The actor reminded me of him. I knew he'd love the dialogue. It was wry and funny, right up his alley. But the entity is still around. His calculated responses, his cold tone it all points to one thing. The energy still exists and I'm the idiot sitting here writing about it.