I dreamed I was out clubbing. Not like that was far from reality... I'd just spent the evening at Vertex. Anyhow. There was an event at the place in my dream in honor of S. In my dream, she was still alive. They made an announcement about it honoring her, and she stood up to take the mic. She thanked people for the place they had in her life. I was in the list, as only a friend. I got upset because I thought I'd been more than a friend and left the place only to find myself parked-in in the lot. The rest of the dream was the convoluted process it took to get out and go. I only ended up at another club, though, not home.
I woke up and cried.
Yes, I know it was just a dream. I know it's more indicative of my own psychological processes than any remote cousin of reality. It hurt anyway.
I doubt it's any coincidence that this comes so close on the tail of getting my memorial tattoo. I look at the picture of her and N on the wall of my bedroom, and I can see the mark on her which I have taken onto myself. I have indelibly joined the ranks of those who have made the choice to wear S's Ankh. I suspect part of my problem is that I haven't had much time and space to process the whole thing. So many of my Buffalo family have had ample opportunity to talk through their pain. For the most part, the pain is not right in front of me. I don't have people in the circle of those with whom I spend the most time who were as affected by this.
It reminds me of the visit back where I went off to talk with D about it and ended up bawling. I'm not facing down my pain on a daily basis. I'm not growing numb to it. Every time it rises to the forefront, it's fresh. This seems to be true whether it's verbal, locational, or psychological.
Not sure why I'm writing this here other than to try to vent some of this before the Imbolc ritual this afternoon. I'm not looking for advice or comments. I probably ought to call D and talk about it some more.