Last night I dreamed of Levi again. This time I dreamed that I was in Los Angeles with my friends, and that Levi came to visit us.

It was just like old times, with drinks, conversation, laughter, and music. Except that I was not the old, naive me, I was the new me, the older, wiser, mother of an almost two year old boy whose father abandoned him. That version of me.

I like her so much more.

In the dream we are at this party and we finally sit down to have dinner. Levi is sitting across from me, and I am struck with the realization that I don't feel anything; no pain, no anger, no emotion what so ever. I marvel at that for a second, and then feel giddy.

Then, he stares at me. Stares right into my eyes.

And it hits me.

That disgusting raw feeling, that feeling like you've been socked in the stomach; it’s the feeling that comes when you have pain, disappointment, anger, pity, and hurt all rolled into one.

Then the tears come and I try to hold them back as I excuse myself from the table.

In my dream, Levi followed me outside and we talked. In my dream he told me that he was sorry that he failed me, that he missed me.

In reality, I know he would never do that.

I woke up again thinking, What the hell is the matter with me?

Then I realized that I've done this before. See here.

It seems that since my divorce, every time I have an opportunity to have a somewhat serious relationship with another man — a man I really like — I dream of Levi, and I start having serious doubts.

I'm glad that I've noticed the pattern. It helps that I’ve been blogging about this, so there’s a record, and I can recognize these patterns.

Even if I'm still unclear as to what it all means.

Oh, the joys and pains of being a woman. Sunday morning, I found myself in my temporary New York City digs in need of personal maintenance. You know, those womanly chores we love to hate — or maybe just hate — with a passion.

Being that the prior week was so hectic, I hadnít had time to pay attention to myself, and by the weekend, I was a mess.

I needed a shampoo and a shave like nobody's business. The shampoo was going to be easy, I figured. So I decided to begin with my least favorite chore — shaving, though I decided to use one of those hair-removal-in-a-tube deals.

Ordinarily, I don't subscribe to chemical hair removal, because it's so messy, and because there's just something strange about the process.

But my heightened need for hair removal — summer equals skin exposure — and the fact I get so impatient when I shave, made me take the plunge.

I wish I had checked the water situation in the apartment before smearing the hair remover on.

Thank goodness it was merely a lack of hot water, and not a full-on drought. If that had been the case, I would be going through the remainder of these horrid New York summers hiding vanity-induced chemical burns under long pants.

It's all in the name of beauty, I suppose.

Why in earth do we as women care so much? What's it all for?

Is it really for ourselves?

Summer has many associations. We look forward to sunlight, warm weather, BBQ’s and children being home…but not to someone else’s children being home, say your husband’s children with his former wife.

Instead of the children stopping by for a night or two once a week, these children arrive for two weeks, maybe a month.

All of a sudden the bleak, quiet days of winter seem compelling.

Dealing with your own children requires being thoughtful, calm, and present. Dealing with your stepchildren requires the same but with even more patience and reflection, so you can respond with integrity.

And then there are the frictions between your own children and their step-siblings in various outings and occasions.

I’d say it’s time for a cocktail and a few deep breaths — and possibly a series of mini-vacations, with one set of children at a time.

Even extremely evolved couples can fall prey to the blame game. Who made the mess in the kitchen? Left the front door open so the dog ran out? Broke my favorite bowl? Who?

It’s so easy to suspect your partner’s children from the previous marriage. Not only are your children perfect, but if you blame his children, that’s one less altercation with your own.

On the other hand, as a step-mother, you want to make sure that the step-siblings are having a good time.

The result this summer is that I am making everyone’s favorite dishes, driving them thither and yon, and attending to their needs at all times.

Trying to please children (who are always self-involved creatures) evokes Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a hill.

No sooner do you feel the glory of a job well done than there is another demand.

And chances are you are never thanked for anything you do.

Sometimes you just can’t win.

Sometimes I still dream about Levi. But not in the way you think. When we first separated I couldn't even sleep, let alone dream. Then, when I finally started dreaming again, I'd dream us back together; together as one big happy family.

I'd wake up from those dreams feeling more depressed than when I went to sleep; dying to go back to sleep and savor that fantasy for just a moment longer.

I'm so glad I don't do that anymore.

Now I have angry dreams.

Now I have dreams in which I am screaming at him.

Now I have dreams in which I am leaving him behind.

Now I have dreams in which I am kicking him out of my house.

I had one of these dreams last night. In my dream, Levi was in my house (don't ask me why) with his whole family.

They were sitting there as I reamed each and every one of them. I was screaming and crying, asking them how they could do this to my son? I remember that I was screaming at Levis' sister, "How dare you!!"

I awoke from this dream slightly startled. Why am I still dreaming about this?

In truth, I don't really feel as angry as I used to. I've worked hard at letting that anger go.

This prompted me to do some research on dreams and I've discovered that people work out their issues through dreaming.

One study, conducted by the Association for the Study of Dreams, looked at 49 people going through divorce. The study showed that people who incorporated their ex into their dreams at the time of the break up were significantly less depressed and better adjusted to their new lives at the follow up point than those who did not.

Another remedy for divorce: Get plenty of rest.

It seems the tide may be turning, but I want to be careful not to rock the boat — or do I? I have recently been given the keys to a friend's apartment in New York City.

My friend Wendy is taking advantage of the summer to visit with her family in North Carolina, before the next semester starts in the fall. This couldn't have happened at a better time for me, as I needed to be closer to the city than my upstate digs would allow.

During the past week, I actually was called in for several interviews. Ordinarily, interviews are not on my list of favorite things to do. But being that things are so tight with the economy, I am happy to be at the point where I am getting callbacks.

But now I am faced with a dilemma.

After one four-hour marathon interview, I was offered a job.

After a half-marathon, two hour interview, I was not offered a job, but am optimistic about my chances.

What I don't like is the wait — two to three weeks while they interview the remaining candidates.

Do I take the job offered to me, or do I wait to see if I am "the right fit" for the other organization's program.

Do I go for the job that is something I really want to do? Or do I go for the job that would offer me a definite paycheck?

Decisions, decisions...

In a conservative town in Nebraska, Sara learned many lessons from her relationship and her divorce. "Trust your gut,” she says. “When you become a mom you have to do what’s best for your kid.”

Some people think you should put your husband first, she says, “but if you’re in a family situation that will negatively impact your kid, you have to take care of them. You’re responsible and at some point your motherly instincts kick in and you have to what needs to be done.”

You also, of course, have to take care of yourself. If she had stayed with the marriage, she says, “I would be the mother to two people instead of just one. He would be very happy. I would work outside the home” — in the Air Force — “take care of the domestic duties and bills, and he would be free to do what he wanted to. I could have dealt with the situation, but I wouldn’t be happy."

On the other hand, being on your own, she says, can be tough. “Dating sucks with a child,” she says.

And then there is the regret: “You always worry that you could have done something to make it work... could I have done this or that, tried harder... any number of things. You’re going to second guess yourself. So know that that will happen, and it will be hard and trying, especially if you work, because you don’t get a break.”

Eventually, she says, it pays off.

The secret to making it through a divorce in the Midwest is to find a good support system. In her case, that was not her home church, which shunned her, even though she was a children's ministry leader there.

She felt the church thought she was a bad example to the kids. "I was asked to take a break from any church ministry. It was like, 'You are divorced so now you should rethink things.' "

She found a new church with a more liberal mindset and credits the congregation with helping her through the rough time.

I previously wrote that I would not have the savvy nor the energy to pull off dating two men at once. After posting it, I wondered if I was in fact sure of this. And if this was the definitive answer, why wasn’t it possible for me? Furthermore, shouldn’t we all consider doing it?

Unfortunately, this is sounding dangerously close to that horrible book that outlined the rules that women needed to follow in order to find their perfect mate. 

While I think that book is absolute garbage, there is something to be said for exploring one’s options before making a final decision.

When it comes down to it, I think about all the decisions I’ve made in haste over the years, some of which have been more detrimental than others.

I look back at these and remember how difficult it was and how long it took to reverse the damage done in a fraction of a second. 

Whether it was extra portions that lead to extra trips to the gym, or saying “I do” as opposed to “I think we need to work out some of these issues before we proceed,” the result was always me having to shift gears and try my damndest to get out of the quicksand before being completely enveloped.

I may not yet have the wherewithal, but whenever I should find myself back in the game, I’d going to make sure I am able to pull off a double-header.

They say the definition of insanity is to repeat the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. Sometimes I wonder if dating is a form of insanity.

Think about it: We date, over and over again – perhaps falling into some form of love (I'm still working on defining the word) – and ultimately, at least thus far, it all falls apart, leaving us feeling empty, broken, despondent, depressed and longing for more.
 
We repeat this process over and over, each time expecting a different result.
 
Each time, we hope that this time it will be different. This time it will work out. This time I've found my prince charming.

My relationship with the new guy is going well, so well in fact that I find myself frightened. So well that I think I may purposely screw it up, just so that I can remain in control.
 
That's the scariest part of a relationship, I think: the feeling that you are out of control. If you fall in love with someone, you give them the power to hurt you.
 
I don't want to be hurt again.

I can't allow myself to be hurt again.

I know this.

I know how far I've come since Levi, and I marvel at it sometimes. I am good now. I am at peace now. I am content now.
 
What I don’t need right now is this giddy, makes-me-want-to-throw-up, happy, butterflies-in-my-stomach feeling.

This waking up next to someone, and reveling in it.
 
These dinners and conversations.
 
This falling in love.

I know he's it, my next big thing. Big heartache or big disappointment or big ... something.
 
It's like I'm on a roller coaster headed for a brick wall, I know I should jump off, but I'm having so much fun that I’ve decided to wait until the absolute last moment.
 
I do not need this right now, but, at the same time, I cannot stop it.

Last weekend, I decided to take an impromptu break from reality and travel to the far away land of Philadelphia. I went to visit my friend Jennifer, who has, like me, had the great misfortune of being banished to the suburbs for the summer.

During the course of the weekend, I was reminded of our time together as struggling students. These memories led me to think about the future, and how I am handling the next chapter of my life.

Many of the associates I have made in the last two years have faded away. Most of them, I decided, were dead weight as I was headed into the future.

But that future has not begun to shine are brightly as I had anticipated when I moved to NY to attend school.

At times I wish it was a bit less of a struggle.

Sunday morning Jenn and I decided to go for breakfast, which was more of a task than either of us had anticipated. Apparently, the suburbs of the fifth largest city in the U.S. don’t unroll their sidewalks on Sunday until after 10 am.

Twelve dollars and a very interesting cab ride later, we found ourselves at the other end of the city in a diner that had every character you could imagine. Every possible character you could possibly imagine was a local at this joint, but the cream of the crop was our waitress, who had the two of us in stitches as soon as we sat down. Shortly after assuming our positions at the counter, our waitress caught one of the male patrons being less than subtle with his glances. Her disapproval of his behavior was all over her face. “I just hate the fact that men don’t even feel the need to be subtle about their attraction anymore,” she complained audibly. “A short glance is sexy, but just to ogle is downright tacky – and rude.”

Ah, the staring.

In my trips to the supermarket in upstate New York, I have noticed that men stare – a lot. We’re not talking a quick glance, either.

Single parenting is stress. It is about learning how to juggle and balance your life. It is about learning to expect the unexpected. It is 2 AM trips to the Emergency Room, all alone.

It is explaining to your boss that you can't come in to work, again. It's about scrounging change to buy diapers. It's about driving to the local Family Court (who named it that anyway?) and filling out form after form.

It's about sitting in court houses for hours and hours only to end up with some stupid piece of useless paper.

Single parenting is frustrating. It's about feeling as if you never have one second to yourself. It's never being allowed to shut the bathroom door – ever.

It's never being able to blast loud music in your car with the windows down. It's never having time to talk to, or see, your friends.

It's not having a hair cut in two years.

Single parenting is frantic. It's leaving your house and realizing that you've got two different shoes on, or worse, you don't have on any shoes at all.

It's rushing through the grocery store at 7 AM, so that you can get in enough hours at work. It's rushing to pick your kid up at daycare so that they don't charge you the one-dollar per minute late fee after 6 PM.

Single parenting is lonely. Single parenting is single. There are times when it feels like there is nobody on Earth who could possibly understand how you feel.

Single parenting is depressing. It's about taking your kid to the park and seeing all of the happy families. It is about seeing a father play with his son and wanting to throw up.

Single parenting is embarrassing. It's about waiting for that dreaded question, "Where's his father?" or, even worse, comments like, "Oh his father must be so proud!"

It's about wishing that people were more sensitive to holidays like Fathers Fay and Mothers Day.