Despite my usual logical thinking (which, thinking of it, I have been making strides to temper during the entirety of this internet project), It becomes clear to me that my motivations are all even still based on a good amount of magical thinking. Of course, teasing it all out, I can see what I’m thinking more completely (or, so completely as my best literary friend used to tell me I constantly said – I should google him, because I had a dream about texting someone with his name during my nap yesterday, it’s a common name and I texted everyone else that had that name and still somehow didn’t feel satisfied).
Case in parenthetical point. Usually, or not usually anymore I am suddenly so proud to say, I bury those thoughts or even at most jot a quick note down on my to-do list and never do it. I never pull the thread and see what unravels, I desperately try to fill my cup without taking time to empty it and plug the hole in the bottom.
I’ve hit a hard existential wall here, and my literary friend is the perfect person to talk to. I hope he’s doing well.
Let’s see what’s left of my dreams, which I was sure were gone but then came back to me while I was on the toilet. Of course, more came before this, and after, but it’s like there’s a loose stitch in the seam where I quickly tried to sew my mind up out of sleeping, and I can only peek in to the stuffing just a bit.
I was working at this place, which I’m pretty sure wasn’t even pretending not to be this nightclub near this apartment that I’m considering moving to. I don’t know what job I actually had there, but I think I was just the door person.
The price was $5 a person, I remember at least that much. Why do I always remember things like that.
Some guy came in with 4 people (or was it 4 other people? Idk, it was clear he was shorting me a very trivial dollar, although it would have been super funny if he was just giving me 4 more dollars and I still tried to fight him on it, which is actually quite in keeping with my character) and basically like a cocky asshole threw $24 directly into my cashbox. Ok, hustler, wtf kind of special you think you are that Imma let you get through for a discount, must be an insider, who’s this guy he must know the owner or secretly own the place himself he got a dollar off lol.
I have no idea why I was charmed by this. The chicks he brought with him ran into the top floor and the downstairs nightclub (this dream made me remember how cool the space actually is) and we started talking. Somehow, this ended in some naked dry humping, and genital rubbing. At which point I told him impersonally to get back on his clothes and get into the club before it closed.
And it was closing. My manager, who looked like Alan Rickman in his hot stage came up from the downstairs bar and said so. I locked the cashbox, went downstairs, and tried to help out, but it was clear to me that I sucked at it (only last time I was at this place did I realize that they served food too – it was ok, but I was drunk). Specifically, I tried to arrange this pickled vegetable tray into something suitable to saran wrap and save in the fridge for opening the next day, and I utterly failed, and beets got all over the onions. A chick that looked like a chick I worked with on a car promotions way back when helped me fix it. She was nice, but I certainly did get the impression that it all would have been better if I had not even tried.
There was more, but it’s all jumbled. I remember walking through a hallway with gold light, but dark on either end, like an eclipse. And passing my Alan Rickman manager on my left side. I can’t remember an emotion attached to it, but I do remember thinking that he was aesthetically pleasing.I actually turned off my ringer last night before I went to sleep and it was wonderful.
I wonder if my literary friend looks like Alan Rickman now. It’s been many years, and he did have that potential. He was amazingly gay, in the classiest way possible. Meaning he was brilliant and deserved the highest respect without even considering him as a sexual, or even human, being. And that respect was ironclad and untouchable even if you found him passed out on a trail in the woods covered in nothing but glitter and dirt at 10am on a Tuesday.
There is so much more to say as there always is, and there’s so much more to do, as there always is. I’m trying to maintain this habit, but it’s beginning to take more time, and I’m falling even more woefully behind.
Physically though, it’s been a long time since I’ve been better.
That’s the most important thing.
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Finally found my gay literary friend and he looks disappointingly unlike Alan Rickman.
I have to message him, but I feel embarrassed that I don’t have a fancy CV linkedIn anything like that to add to my name.
Just a huge pile of money, whatever.
I have to go back to work.