I really meant to spend more time on links yesterday, but someone called.

I didn’t think I had dreams today, but then, as it sometimes does during coffee making, it hit me like a ton of bricks that no, this new knowledge that I’m going to operate my life based upon is not actually coming from real life, but from a dream.

This one explains a difficulty I am having, and as the only way around is through, I should go through this for real.

I can’t remember how I got there, but I believe I was in a school, I think the one in my town, although I think my memory of what a school looks like came from a particular corner in the hallway where my friends and I used to hang out before a particular class…

And I remember it was at this particular class that my friends found out I was leaving school suddenly and forever. I wonder what they’re doing now.

Anyway (I clicked away…) I was with some people, I’m not sure how but I’m pretty sure it’s back there, and we were in that hall again. One was a blonde kind of grungy looking guy who, in examination, had the same eyes as this kid that my friends and I hang out with in NH, and maybe his junky ex girlfriend?

We rounded the corner, and in the spot where my highschool friends and I would have been standing, My (I automatically capitalized twice so I’m keeping it) glitter gay literary friend was standing, as well as this other chick that I went to college with, who I actually know is a teacher in this town and despite being here the entire time and running into me in the crosswalk an average of once every 2 years, never expresses an interest in knowing me further, even though thinking of it I have had a threesome with her, in her bed, with a dude that my glitter gay friend was actually infatuated with.

Maybe that’s what this dream is about.

Anyway, when seeing my glitter gay friend in the hall, I can remember what I did, and it seems extremely accurate (this particular friend, and my current boyfriend as well, tease me for adding narrowing adjectives on words that intrinsically refer to the concept of specificity). First, I pretended I was having an even better time than I actually was with my friends, laughed a little louder, smiled a little wider, to appear like things were good, maybe he would notice me. Then, I looked at him and looked away, the hot acidic syrup of adrenaline pooling at the base of my throat right inside on top of my collarbone as I tried to recall our past interactions and predict how he would react. Then, I walked right past, with my friends, I believe we were skipping or something ridiculous, turned around slightly and saw he still wasn’t looking, and embarrassed, went back to say hi.

Why am I such a weirdo.

Anyway, I hope his reaction isn’t accurate.

He’s a tall man, and he looked down at me condescendingly, as though I was something unpleasant from his past, and that he pitied me, and also was embarassed that he was going to have to pretentiously explain to his much more accomplished friends after I walked away that yes, he *did* have his party days back in college, hehe… exactly like that sounds.

I was woken at 2:31pm by an important phone call, I should have stayed up after that, but instead I slept until 4:01. Better than yesterday.

I think this is my biggest fear whenever I contact anyone. That they will see that I’ve done nothing. This fear, in turn, has stopped me from doing anything. It’s a vicious cycle, just like my desire to quit smoking causes me to smoke more when I have cigarettes because I know that I’ll be quitting when I’m done, which upregulates my need for nicotine.

I’m somehow almost done my coffee, but I want to write more.

I may or may not finish this, and I may or may not rush through some details which may or may not be important.

The two grungy kids and I went the club that I used to live around the corner from in my (almost capitalized) favorite house, it was the grittiest of our 2 options, but it’s characteristics were made more extreme by the dream.

I don’t remember anything remarkable happening at the club, but then it was time to leave.

We were in a car, maybe a cab, or an uber, or was the blonde kid driving? We were going back to my favorite house, which I knew was a risky move so late at night (I’d probably only ever go back there to pass out and sleep) and so I recklessly decided to go to my glitter gay friend’s house, for some reason I knew that he lived in the half basement apartment of a stately brick building on a street that I know in town, and am going to be moving near.

Of course, being as it was after bar hours, it was 2am. He treated me with all the disdain I should have expected, plus more.

He told me that he never liked me. That after college he realized that there was something really wrong with me, that I was insane, and as he specifically put it, a pervert. That I was psychologically dangerous, and destructive.

I was so embarrassed. I tried to leave, but I was drunk, and I just remember feeling terrible like I constantly do.

Who gets drunk in dreams? What is that about?

As I recall the dream, the blonde kid I was with looks more and more like this guy that I went to school with, and moved to this town as well. I remember seeing him a few times and he was super nice, but I kind of let him go and fade away and avoided him almost, just like that school teacher in my dream. Maybe that kid wasn’t cool enough for me, maybe I’m not professional enough to hang with her.

Whatever fuckers, give me back my glitter gay friend.

Maybe this has prompted me to listen to a playlist that for some reason features many of the songs my annoying yet super beautiful college roomate used to listen to constantly. I just wanted Under the Milky Way by the Church.

Out of order, this is an experiment.

I believe I remember how we got there.

Once again, this began in the dream reconstruction of my favorite house ever, in the town where I still for some reason live. Unfortunately, or fortunately or whatever it was a dream, this was after the house sold, and I only had access to it in secret (as, though I haven’t tested it for fear of being let down, I believe I do <=== this is perhaps the key).

I remember creeping around the house, sneaking down a side stair to avoid the current owners, hearing them talk in the hall, and saying hi to the neighbors on the way out.

In the dream reconstruction of my town, it’s like the extremes are more extreme. The hills are much steeper and sharper, the shops are much more nestled into each other and smaller, the alleyways and streets are much narrower, and the colors on all the houses and signs are so much brighter.

I want to find a town that looks like my town in my dreams.

I just want to say that I haven’t contacted my glitter gay friend yet.

I’d better do it, so at least I know what will happen instead of having nightmares about it.