Patchwork Dreams & Sparkly Vampires
Last night was restless—dream after dream of exes, like a never-ending highlight reel of past loves. Each one bled into the next, a confusing stream of happiness, sadness, and all the messy emotions in between. When I finally opened my eyes, it felt like every relationship was still sitting heavy on my chest.
I try not to look back too often—after all, you can’t rewrite the past. But I also know it’s important to remember where we’ve been, so we don’t trip over the same mistakes again. Too heavy of a thought for 7 a.m., so I decided to shelve the deep introspection and go straight to the cure-all: coffee.
As the machine hummed to life, warming the water, I couldn’t help but smile. I love this coffee machine. Like, irrationally love it. It’s my morning soulmate.
Meanwhile, the dogs had their own agenda. Prancing feet, tails wagging like windmills, tongues out in sloppy grins. Freya, of course, couldn’t contain her wiggles—her whole body vibrating with so much joy that she kept knocking into Odin. I like to tell myself it’s accidental, but deep down, I know the truth: she’s a little turd and just wants all the attention for herself.
I opened the door to take them out, but one look at the wet ground and light sprinkle falling from the sky and they both decided—nope, they could hold it. I tried to coax them, but instead they pranced dramatically through the mud, lifting their paws like dainty little royals avoiding puddles, convinced they might melt if the rain touched them. Bathroom needs? Clearly not as urgent as keeping their paws pristine. Within minutes, they were begging to go back inside.
Once we retreated, I settled into my trusty recliner—aka throne chair—and inhaled the sweet aroma of coffee beans. But sitting didn’t last long. I got up, opened the blinds so my indoor plants could soak up some rays, did the dishes, started a load of laundry, wiped down the counters, and even vacuumed near the front door where the mud had made its mark. Feeling smug with my morning accomplishments, I finally returned to my throne to ponder the day.
The dogs sat in front of me, patient but plotting. Odin rested his head on the chair, gazing at me with emo eyes that dripped pure longing. Freya smiled up with her tongue lolling sideways like the goofy queen she is. I called them both up and in a thunder of paws, wiggles, and chaos, they climbed into “their” spot—on me. Now buried under ninety pounds of fur, drool, and unconditional love, I let myself sink into the moment.
Coffee in hand, dogs on lap, chores already checked off. I avoided my dreams intentionally—no one wants to unpack their whole life at 8 a.m.
Instead, I decided it was time to wake my Canadian friend for our morning coffee and chat. We hopped into Discord, as we usually do on weekends, and slid right into our routine: politics, world news, and the occasional rabbit-hole tangent about everything from history to space potatoes. He’s older and knows more than I do, so I mostly listen while sneakily Google searching or running things through ChatGPT like a fact-checking sidekick. Honestly, it feels like having my own personal world-news anchor—only with more sarcasm and maple syrup.
It’s even better when Auntie shows up. Then the whole thing turns into a family-style debate, complete with friendly heckling, which never fails to crack me up. And just when I thought it couldn’t get better, our Louisiana friend popped in. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him until he showed up with his usual humor and chaos energy.
Lately, though, we’ve all been drifting—waiting on Dune to release more PVE and PVP content, and praying Once Human figures out how to update without face-planting. We adore that game, but their “improvements” feel like they were designed by a committee of raccoons. And honestly, I need them to get it together soon—we’ve stockpiled way too many adorable outfits in that game to just let them sit there. For now, we haven’t really landed on a new game together, which makes us a bit like a pack of gamers wandering aimlessly through the digital desert.
But soon enough, the day called and I had things to do. On the list: Lowe’s run for astroturf, a jigsaw, and a sander. Naturally, I tried to order online for curbside pickup (because yes, I’m that person), but apparently small-town Lowe’s doesn’t believe in such luxuries. So, off to the store I went—dogs in tow.
They were thrilled for the truck ride. I even treated them to the car wash, which is always an event. The water sprayed, rainbow foam coated the windshield, brushes whirled and scrubbed, and the dogs watched wide-eyed. They used to bark like maniacs, but now they’ve accepted my shenanigans and just sit quietly, fascinated, like it’s their version of Saturday morning cartoons.
At Lowe’s, I left the truck running so they could enjoy their AC throne while I ventured inside. A kind gentleman helped me grab the jigsaw from a shelf too high for even me, and then I checked out and headed back to the truck.
That’s when the universe decided to show off. On the drive home, the skies opened up with a heavy downpour, thunder rumbling in the distance. We made it home in one piece, but it was clear the rain wasn’t stopping anytime soon. So, we dashed inside, soggy but safe, to wait it out before finishing any outdoor chores.
But I was restless. I wanted to be productive, to get the outside squared away so our little outdoor dreams could come alive—the dogs with their astroturf play pen instead of dirt, the gazebo in its full glory. The universe, however, had other plans.
I knew I should keep busy. I thought about crocheting—I haven’t picked up a needle in months, and it’s been calling to me—but for some reason I just couldn’t bring myself to pull it out, figure out where I left off, and begin again. Why am I like this? I thought.
I knew why. Crochet made me think of him—my ex. When I was sick, I crocheted. I was learning, making squares of different stitches for a blanket I planned to give him. I finished all the squares, but never stitched them together. They still sit in a box, tucked in the corner of a closet I left behind. I couldn’t bring myself to take it with me. I left it there, like I left him and my cat’s there. Crochet is a reminder.
With my Auntie still super sick, she hasn’t joined Discord, and my cousin’s been working, so my Canadian friend and I haven’t been playing any games. We’re waiting until they return so we don’t advance without them. Instead, we decided to watch the Twilight series. Honestly, I was blown away when he said that’s what he was going to put on. Every man I know has teased those movies, with their sparkly vampires and melodrama. But me? I love them. Sure, there are plenty of eye-roll moments—but they’re the good kind of eye rolls. It’s one of my comfort stories.
So me and the dogs settled in, watching movie after movie. We made it through number three before the snores and drool claimed us all. But before sleep took me, I thought about movies, love stories, and life.
We grow up yearning for that type of love—that deep, intense, all-consuming love. In my case, I found it young. Too young. And it was unhealthy. Since then, I’ve done everything I could to avoid that kind of connection. It’s dangerous. But in pushing it away, I’ve also kept part of myself locked up, untouchable.
I did find it again with my soon-to-be ex-husband. It wasn’t the same—it was different—but just as intense and strong, only not toxic to the soul. For a while, we both caught a flicker of that kind of love, the kind that makes you think you’ve unlocked some secret “forever” achievement. But then life happened—too much, too fast—and we hurt each other, let each other down, and never did the real work to repair it or fan that flame into something bigger.
We were never quite on the same page at the same time—always just a sentence or two apart, like mismatched chapters in the same book. That little off-balance wobble turned into tiny resentments, which grew into medium resentments, which eventually snowballed into the kind of giant, stompy resentments that crush entire love stories. And because of that, we never found that true connection again.
Each person I’ve been with in my life has been what I needed in that moment, in that space, in one way or another. They helped me repair myself, trust myself, and trust others. But it never fully fit—whether for forever or even for the short-term. And the long-term result of that mismatch was unhappiness for everyone.
I was always the one to leave. None of these men would have ever walked away; they would have stayed with me, unhappy, clinging to a version of “forever” that wasn’t working. So in the end, it feels like it’s always my fault—because I’m the one who gave up. That’s one way to see it.
Or I can choose to see it differently: maybe I was brave enough to walk away, to give both of us a fighting chance at happiness, even if it meant pain in the moment. I’d like to believe that version. But guilt has always been my shadow—it sneaks in, heavy and dramatic, like it’s auditioning for a soap opera, and sits squarely on my chest reminding me of every choice I’ve ever made.
Of course, these men had their own issues to work through too—we all contributed to why things didn’t last. But I can only truly speak for myself: my feelings, my failures, my successes, and my growth.
It’s funny how today stitched itself together—from dreams, to movies, to self-reflection. If you open up and really listen, you can sometimes move past the daily mundane and hear the universe whispering its truths, handing you new lessons in unexpected ways.
Maybe that’s the thing about life. We spend so much time chasing perfect love, perfect homes, perfect routines—when in reality, it’s all a patchwork quilt of pieces that don’t always fit. Some squares get stitched together, some get left behind in boxes we can’t open yet. But each one still teaches us something. And maybe that’s enough for now.
Lessons of the Day
Dreams are free therapy, but they bill you in emotional hangovers.
Coffee machines deserve Valentine’s cards — they’re real soulmates.
Dogs firmly believe water falling from the sky is a personal attack.
Mud magically turns four paws into tap-dancing divas.
Recliners aren’t just chairs, they’re kingdoms.
Canadians make surprisingly excellent world-news anchors (bonus points for sarcasm).
Rainbow car washes are better than Netflix for dogs.
Gamers don’t quit games, they just wander off until the developers get their act together.
Crochet projects can hold more ghosts than yarn.
Love stories—whether sparkly vampires or real-life heartbreaks—remind me that maybe the only person we’re truly meant to be with forever is ourselves, and that everyone else who enters our life is just a chapter(s) that helps stitch our story together.
