My dreams are around here somewhere… I’ve noticed that if I chase them too hard, They try to blend i with real life, and I won’t be able to pick apart what actually happened and didn’t.

I guess that’s why it still is good to recount dreams.

I’m ruining everything. I woke up perfectly on time today, like to the minute good, and then I rolled over and went to sleep for another hour and a half. For no reason, it wasn’t good sleep.

I thought of the boy, next to me in bed, and how he looks propped up on one elbow, when he gets up in the morning. He’s so beautiful…

I’m equally as skilled with crafting praise as I am with insults. I guess I’m just articulate. It comes from a place, and I could tell you (or me, but I already know) about it, but my head is dull, pounding, like feeling someone else scream into their pillow. If you’ve never held a pillow over someone’s face before. The faint moist warmth of their hardest breath through a thick layer of foam that catches almost all of it, perhaps by the 5th or 6th scream you can really feel the heat and wet collecting, before that it is only a suspicion, the slight change made apparent only by the way it’s timed with the heaving of their chest and the straining of their shoulders. Then, after that, the pillow is more warm than not, and the increase as imperceptible as it’s building.

All the while, someone is screaming underneath, and I’m just thinking. Wow, it’s weird how the heat builds in waves to the point where we don’t notice it, like the tide coming in. But there is a radical difference between the starting and stopping points. I wonder how this approach can be applied to change, generally, and how it has been applied to change, generally, and in my life specifically?

This is kind of like the way I continuously struggle (I did not say fail) with quitting smoking. At first, tide is out, and I don’t smoke. Then, once in a while, a half, then a half becomes a ritual that I look forward to. But then, this occasion calls for a whole one, and then a whole one becomes a ritual (only half usually) and then a whole one a day, and then, one morning, I wake up and say, why don’t I have a cigarette?

I told myself I’d never smoke in my new apartment, and I have failed. I have only smoked a few days in this apartment, and I’ve only been here a few days. I have to figure out how to stop.

An Excuse is the skin of a reason stuffed with a lie

My Father used to make me repeat this daily as an affirmation, and while it really sounds cool, I don’t think it has helped me stop making excuses. I wonder what will?

I really have to find my headphones, I turned on my music and now I can feel my collarbones are pinching together, I’m cringeworthy embarrassed that Slipknot came on. Because it’s 2020.

I’ve seen the boy have that posture before.

I didn’t break up with him yesterday, because I thought I suddenly had something important to do today, which I kind of do but I’m not doing it. But I’m out of time, and as I keep telling myself, he’s not even that good.

An excuse is the skin of a reason stuffed with a lie

There are many different kinds of excuses. I still feel like there’s something more meaningful that I could say to myself instead, but this is a good anchor over just a droning monologue of self loathing. Which is honestly funny sometimes. The humour tricks you into keeping a bad habit going.

I broke everything today. I did not do this breakup thing, I’ve got to do it, I’m talking outloud to myself, I’m on my phone texting my brother of all people. I have to go hand over keys, I have to go get keys, I have to put all of my stuff away.

I walked away, from this computer, and my coffee, and wrote to my brother about things that are above every one else’s heads by miles and miles, but for us it’s a joke, it’s normal, and it’s now my excuse to have finished my coffee without doing anything meaningful here.

An excuse is the skin of a reason stuffed with a lie.

My father’s point is, that the excuse is covering a lie, and it’s important that you don’t let the lie sneak through. What are you actually afraid of, that you needed an excuse to cover for it? What is the real motivation?

I love my brother so much.

He told me about his nightmares last night.

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