I dreamed that it was dark, here on the island (7106 Riverwood Boulevard, Tampa, FL 33615) and I was walking from the canal side up to the house, when I saw the outline of something unfamiliar in the place where my unused hammock sways.  A very loud boat came down the canal, and turned north on the creek.  I watched the silhouette pass by and thought he must be going out to fish in the pre dawn glow.  Turning my attention back to the angled forms under the trees, I saw that it was a huge model of a house, cut into fragments and half buried in the dirt.  The windows were all empty, and black and burned from the inside out.  There was nothing of any value left in the doll house.  It seemed to be cut in half, or half buried in the dirt and the rooms were all disconnected and set at angles that would make if very difficult to bring them all back together into a usable structure.

 

I saw the silhouette of  my first husband, Mike Murdock, on the ridge of the creek bank and followed him into the real house.  Inside, my house didn’t look the same at all.  It was a mess of clutter and totally disorganized.  Mike never said a word to me, but led me to some papers in plastic envelopes on the table.  The sleeves were like the ones that all of the documents that were disputed by Don’s children were kept in.  I couldn’t make out the texts on the pages, but notice that my wedding date to Don was scribbled on the outer edge of one and they all had a thin green border.

 

There were other notes, like someone would take if they had me under surveillance around the time of my wedding, which was 10/10/91.  All of the notes were in Mike’s handwriting and I found it odd, even in the dream, that I would remember Mike’s penmanship so clearly, some 16 years after having been around him.  I took a pen and drew a line around the outside edge of the green border, but even at the time, didn’t know why.

 

Everywhere I went in the house, I was being stalked by Mike, but felt he was pretty harmless, so I felt more annoyed than fearful.

 

The meaning?   I am not sure.  It was a lucid dream and stayed with me this morning, but it still doesn’t make much sense.  I felt like the contents of the plastic sleeves was probably important, but I couldn’t see them then and couldn’t even guess now what was in them or why I drew a line on the sleeve.

 

The burned out house where my sanctuary (hammock) is supposed to be is pretty obvious.  Under this current stress, I feel burned out and empty and lacking value, because it is hard for me to fight for my own peace of mind.  It is hard to ask Peter to leave and give me the space I need to rebuild, because I feel like no person of any real value could be so selfish.

 

I've been writing my story since I was able to write, but when the media goes to share it, they only choose the parts that fit their idea of what will generate views.  If I'm going to share my story, it should be the whole story.  The titles are the dates things happened. If you have any interest in who I really am please start at the beginning of this playlist: http://savethecats.org/

 

I know there will be people who take things out of context and try to use them to validate their own misconception, but you have access to the whole story.  My hope is that others will recognize themselves in my words and have the strength to do what is right for themselves and our shared planet.  

 

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Music (if any) from Epidemic Sound (http://www.epidemicsound.com) This video is for entertainment purposes only and is my opinion.