Last night, I had the most intense dream in ages. At least, I think I did; I can’t, for the life of me, remember any details.
One thing for sure is that as I woke up, I had this biting desire to hold, hug, smell, and smooch a baby, specifically a son that I’ve fathered. And, this feeling has stayed with me all day.
Confusing though it is (I thought only women had this kind of dreams), I felt strangely happy and uplifted. As I was waiting in line to confirm my psych appointments at Health Services, I wondered whether I should have one of those man-with-a-low-self-esteem-wondering-if-the-world-really-needs-more-losers-like-him crisis, but then I figured I needn’t worry about it; it’s probably just Paxil messing with my mind.
While I feel very happy (only if irrationally so), I get this ominous feeling that a year from now, I will be visiting a nice, professional lesbian couple every month to hold, hug, smell, and smooch my biological son.
God, I really need to switch to a different antidepressant.
But then, saying “I am 29 years old, and, by the way, I have a 7 year old son with this lesbian couple that I know” will sure get the conversations going at white-collar, upper middle class social gatherings. Or, make the room go completely silent.