Goddess, get your gun

Mom keeps having dreams that I’m involved with my 10-years-younger hot mechanic. (OK, he did ask me out but I wasn’t sure what to make of it.)

I dreamed of someone I don’t think about. Who flares up ‘roid-like to project their own weaknesses onto me. But it was an educational dream, as others in said dream could explain something to me I didn’t realize on my own all these years.

I don’t think I have intimacy issues. Just haven’t met a man who’s spent 40 years working on himself and becoming a better person the way I’ve sure tried to do.

Secondarily, I do see all the deadbeats mom wasted her time with. And relatedly, having mom move in wasn’t the best thing for my social life. Her choices, and their effects, shape my life — and change my choices — even now.

But the dream showed I do have intimacy battle scars. I don’t want anyone in my space who can turn on me and try repeatedly to ruin me. I got that souvenir T-Shirt in quite a few colors, thanks.

It all makes sense as I try to fit the Parkland shooting into my head somehow.

Now, I look around the office, movie theaters, stores and open spaces — wondering who’s the likeliest to be packing and, more importantly, whose light they’d snuff out first.

And I don’t want to die or have my career at risk again because someone feels they are entitled to taking something away from me. To punish me for doing well or protecting myself or just being lucky.

I don’t know that I’m as strong as my Stoneman Douglas neighbors. Not anymore. But I’ll take lucky. May that luck continue to outlast and overpower any darkness that dares entertain heading this way.

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