Road to hell is paved with good intentions

I know an essential part of this letting go business I'm supposed to be break into is coming to terms with the fact that The Man's well-being is no longer my responsibility; that it's not my job to try to make him see the light. But it's just one of the many businesses I don't have the nose for... 

And speaking of noses- I hate mine. I am probably the only girl in the world dreaming of rhinoplasty in order to acquire a more Semitic-looking nose. 

So far I haven't ordered that DVD. I figured even he isn't stupid enough to not realize it was me who did it. That I've found yet another way to nag him about getting his priorities straight. I'm relying on my sister to talk some sense into me, so I'll be spending the weekend at her's. She should knock some sense into me. Though, even she admitted that she still secretly wishes we'd get back together. But has no immediate plans to start brokering another truce. That I know of.

Gabrielle the psychic has been quiet for a couple of days now. I have, however, been contacted by Julie who has sensed I need help and Tara, who is convinced that "her unrivaled superpowers" (again, her words, not mine) are just what I need right now. I feel so privileged, having all these people genuinely concerned about me my credit card. I know now how Hugh Hefner must feel like.

I have decided to get through this without an army of psychics. Though I'm not sure what to make of my dreams these days. Maybe someone somewhere is trying to get me through this through my dreams? After that very upsetting one where The Man was making those lofty promises I had another very real one.

This time I was somewhere in Africa. I lived there, but have no idea why. Anyway, I found myself on a ranch of some sort in the company of a guy who owned it. He was Caucasian with dark hair, that much I think I remember. And he spoke English. After having spent some time together he just wouldn't let me leave. Not in a threatening, "gagged, bound and locked in a cupboard"- sort of way, but in a "now that I've found you I'm not going to let you slip away"- sort of way. Which felt nice. It was...refreshing to have someone else be so sure they wanted to be with me.

And even nicer was the frisson that was so tangible between us. Oh, which reminds me of something else: he had a very nice, toned torso...

If only I could remember what his accent was like I'd know which plane to board. I have a sneaky suspicion it might have been South African. I'm not thrilled about that: to me Australians sound like retarded Brits and South Africans take it even further- they sound like retarded Australians! 

Though... the dream did provide me with plenty of moments to get thrilled about...! I wonder what's to come. Will I get that internship in Kenya? Or will I win the first prize (flights to Africa) in the competition I found in my inbox the following morning? Or am I just really losing it by reading too much into these dreams...?