Dear Eric: I am a lesbian in my late 60s. Recently I had a dream of a woman I knew back in the ‘70s. I was very taken by her; even though I knew I was gay and confused, I married my boyfriend anyway. But she and I and other friends went on coffee breaks for a couple of years, and she always sat across from me. Sometimes I caught her staring at me and her face would turn red.

Back then I was afraid to approach and ask a woman on a date, as many of us were. Now back to 2025, I am single, and I figure I would look her up and say hi. I saw by multiple websites and media sites that she was not married and never was. What were the chances of that since she was so pretty back then?

So, I phoned her home, and no one picked up, and I left a message. I tried to message her on Facebook, and, to my surprise, I could not message her because she blocked me. That was so strange. What did I do?

So, I drove to where she lived and when she came out of her house, I called out to her. She said she did not know me and I could tell she was lying because she was getting nervous. So, I just dropped the whole thing. I didn’t want to scare her and make her think I was a lunatic.

This really bothers me because I asked a friend of hers about the situation and the friend ghosted me too. What is going on? Cannot get any answers. What is your take on this?

This column scared the bell out of me when I read it a few weeks ago. People in the comments section online really went to town on the letter writer, responding rather harshly. They weren't necessarily wrong with what they said, but their attitude and approach were less than kind.

I admit my first reaction to seeing the above column was that it had to either be a joke or there was something seriously wrong with the advisee. 

Then I thought back to my own situation and I realized that the only thing that separated me from this woman was action...I did not nor have ever acted on my feelings, thoughts or dreams for my former crush, but I get the letter writer far far more than I would like.

Despite finding what LW1 wrote alarming, I feel very much for her. 

I too have had dreams about someone I knew decades ago and I am also a lesbian, but, in my own case, I knew oh too well that the person I had feelings for in high school (in the 1980s) most definitely did not notice me in any real way. 

We were classmates and she was always polite with me, but I made friendship overtures that clearly weren’t welcome and I should have realized it right away, instead of reaching out multiple times before finally seeing the light. 

At the time I was 17 and over the years I’ve told myself I didn’t know any better back then, but I still feel shame when I realize I didn’t read social cues better. Nowadays, someone would have to hit me over the head for me to realize they want to be my friend.

A few years ago I saw my former classmate at the local grocery store and I froze, then turned and moved very fast the other way. I just knew and know in my heart she would not want to have anything to do with me today and I’m grateful that I always have ignored any urges to contact her.

The LW should know she’s not alone in her feelings with what happened. But it truly is (despite how hard it can be) best to move on. I know it’s easier said than done, but it really is the only thing you can do. 

“Whatever happened to so and so?” is something that can plague our thoughts and feelings and it’s a theme popular in pop culture, but what can plague us even more is when end up doing something we deeply regret. 

I will never forget the look of dismay on the face of the person I liked back in high school and I would never want to do that to anyone ever again. My intentions, I honestly believe, were pure at the time, but It doesn’t change what happened or what I did.

It is with relief (I think that's the right word) that I have finally come to realize that my dreams and pondering of "whatever happened to?" are not related to the incredibly painful unrequited feelings I experienced in high school. 

I have absolutely no interest in bumping into or becoming friends with someone from high school...except for the music, the 80s were not a particularly good time in my life and I hate looking back, even when I do.

There is something else entirely different going on with my particular dream situation. Normally I scoff at dream symbolism because the same thing can represent different things to different people, but in this case, I wonder. I just need to figure out what and then I think the dreams will disappear for good.

 

Can't wait to have more time with Murder By Cheesecake. I have begun reading it and, so far, the experience is like watching an episode of Golden Girls :)

There’s something uniquely unsettling about a house in decay. Peeling wallpaper, blackened mold creeping up the walls, floors sticky with unseen grime. It's not just a setting in horror films; it’s a character in its own right. Filth and neglect in horror tap into something primal within us, a revulsion that goes beyond mere disgust and into the realm of existential dread.  

A decaying home is often a metaphor for abandonment—not just by its inhabitants, but by society, by order, by hope itself. Think of the infamous Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), where the Sawyer family’s derelict house, caked in blood and grime, becomes a nightmare of rural isolation and madness. The filth isn’t just set dressing; it’s a visual manifestation of their moral rot.  

In many horror films, a decaying environment mirrors the psychological state of its inhabitants. Repulsion (1965) shows Carol’s apartment deteriorating alongside her sanity, with food rotting in the sink and walls cracking under unseen pressure. The house doesn’t just *contain* her madness, it *becomes* it.  

The Babadook (2014) uses the slow decay of Amelia’s home to reflect her unraveling mental state. Piles of unwashed dishes, dust thickening in the corner; these aren’t just signs of neglect, but of a woman drowning in grief.  

Filth in horror often suggests something *hiding*—something we can’t quite see but know is there. In Hellraiser (1987), the rotting, blood-stained walls of the Cotton house are gateways to another dimension of suffering. The grime isn’t just dirt; it’s residue from something far worse.  

Even in more modern films like Relic (2020), the mold spreading through the elderly mother’s home is both a literal and supernatural infestation. The house doesn’t just decay, it *consumes*.  

At its core, the horror of filth and decay speaks to our fear of entropy—the slow, inevitable collapse of order. A clean home is control; a filthy one is chaos. It reminds us that no matter how much we scrub, how much we repair, time and neglect will always win in the end.  

And perhaps that’s the most terrifying thing of all.  

Within my emotions, I've been all over the place lately so it's only fitting that I reacted so intensely to things I watched and read while on staycation last week:

below: "Sorry, Right Number" from  Tales From the Darkside and "San Juniper" from Black Mirror

I can't even begin to find the words to reflect my viewing experience with the episode of Black Mirror called "San Juniper." It wasn't just that I needed tissues afterward or that the 80s soundtrack*hit me hard. It was so much more than that: it felt like my lived experience, but one-sided, non-reciprocal, unrequited.

It might not seem like the two shows share much in common (they don't) but later on after I had watched "Sorry, Right Number" and "San Juniper" and had time to think, it struck me that both anthology show episodes dealt with grief of some kind.

Later the same day that I had watched "San Juniper" I had a dream about my own life that related a lot to it and I woke up incredibly sad. 

I opened up a random horror novel to read (horror always makes me feel better) and waited for the dream fading to begin.

*Aside from smells, no other thing (good or bad) takes me back like music does. I can smile thinking back or dissolve into tears at a traffic stop. This playlist has a lot of those moments.

 

The poetry collection Monsters in the Closet came out last week and I just purchased it. This gets to me so, so, so much:

Dedication For every queer soul who has ever been called unnatural, unholy, or monstrous— for those who have been told their love is a sin, their desire a curse, their very existence something to be hidden in the dark. This is for you. For the ones who have whispered their truths into the night, who have carved their names into history with trembling hands, who have refused to be erased. You are not a mistake. You are not a villain in someone else’s fable.

You are not the thing to be feared in the shadows. You are the storm, the fire, the myth that will never die. You are beauty wrapped in defiance, love woven from survival. And if they call us monsters—then let us be monstrous. Together, we reclaim our darkness. Together, we shine.