Heirloom Orchards

I have work to do, but yet I’m here. I’m glad I came back, or at least I trust that I will be.

I was supposed to go see my boyfriend, he said he was sick. I don’t believe it, but I honestly don’t mind. It’s a shame because I really do like fucking him, and I’m afraid that eventually I will resent the boy for being the reason (I was going to say “making me” but that is not true, it is my own choice) that I gave up such an amazing dick. It truly is amazing.

I did not come here to talk about men today. There are a lot of things I have to do. It occurs to me that my work is full of men, apparently I am quite good at worrying about men, taking care of men. It makes sense that I am compensated for it. I am. I could use more compensation, I should go get it.

Music with words distracts me, it enters into my thoughts and steers my narrative. I’m writing slower, I can feel it. And anyone can see that the words here are shallow. Or maybe I am shallow today, grabbing at some meaning, hoping for a breakthrough here that will somehow be worth the hour or so (or less?) that I will spend here.

I woke up pretty much on time today, and took melatonin last night. It’s ok if this post doesn’t have any tremendous insight in it, sometimes I guess this happens. It’s fine. I had dreams last night, but I can’t quite get to them… I lay around for 20 minutes in bed before saying my affirmations and getting up, and then took out the trash and smoked half a cigarette while my coffee was brewing. Maybe I chased them off. I’m trying to remember even one thing about them, one item to pull up the stitching that holds them down, like my friend’s wig which I cut off last night.

I’ll talk about my friends, at least it’s not men. Although some of my friends are men – my side dude came by for a minute last night. Had a drink and left. I just scrolled back and started to read, but stopped myself. It was shallow anyway, what’s the point of rereading.

Maybe it’s the 5 sip mark that gets my brain going, and helps me start thinking. What would Mosely say about that? Is this exercise still as effective with coffee, or am I just demonstrating the depth of my addiction? I still can’t remember my dreams.

I keep pausing to listen to the music.

My side dude keeps telling me that I’m not like other women, that I’m different. I was going to start writing about how annoying it is for men to say that, and that they always do, and how incredibly dismissive of women it is on the whole to somehow insinuate that I’m better than the rest of them, what kind of insult is that to the rest of them? But then I remembered that my girl friend said that to me also yesterday morning. Is that internalized misogyny, or am I really good?

I feel like (I don’t care about the pronoun I today, I’m struggling) there was a message about this in my dream, but it’s like the movie inception. It’s deep in there, a dream within a dream within a dream within a dream, I only came out with the one thread of meaning that my brain put on a whole show to add the necessary depth to.

Anyway, I feel like there’s some things that I have to do. My friend came over yesterday, and she’s coming back. I should do better, I should be ready. I should be nicer. Our interaction was so shallow, but this is one of my (almost capitalized My) real friends, and we have been through real shit. I should be respectful of that, and not try to slip out with superficiality. She clearly is concentrating on my work, on the industry that we are both a part of, and despite it kind of not being the right time to do that what with Coronavirus, and I should take advantage of her presence to focus on that.

Long pause.

I’ll do it, I have nothing to hide from, not from her.

I remember in my dream last night, my most awesome female cousin, who I really should call today and just might, remarked about how many topless pictures there were of me on the internet. I almost remember it well enough to open up a quote, but not quite… but I will anyway.

We were sitting in a room, I’m trying to remember what room it was. The furniture was comfortable and stuffed, but modest. Who’s house was it? It might have been my youngest Uncle’s (capitalization considered and accepted) old house, but then again, maybe not. Actually, I believe it was my Grandmother’s old house, which is weird, because it was the grandmother on the opposite side of the family from the relatives that I was talking to. Although, as my Mother would point out, all of those children had lived in that house, because my wonderful Grandmother gave so many people favors.

What a life they all must have had before I got there. I’m beginning to understand why my Father kept me away from them. Were they really vultures like that, are people allowed to be vultures like that?

And then just to cast her aside and act like they don’t know her once they don’t need her, like they’ve done with my Mother. I can see why she’s angry.

Anyway, we were seated in the large (I knew where it was because it was the only house in my memory that was ever that big) living room, furniture spaced much more than 6 feet apart. Once the old built in wrap around chartreuse silk couch had been mercilessly ripped out, there was no way to arrange furniture in such a way to facilitate close feelings or conversation between anyone in the room. The house was instantly so lonely without her, and it deserves to be lonely. It was only ever meant to be hers, and now she is gone. It should be ripped down, and I feel how my mother feels now.

Anyway (again), my cousin was seated on a corner section of the yellow silk couch that had been awkwardly pushed over toward the window wall which overlooked the heirloom fruit orchard. She leaned over the back to talk to me.

Meanwhile, My uncle (capitalization noticed and abandoned) sat on a fraction of the couch that had been pushed to the back wall, across from the fireplace where someone kept trying to put a TV for no reason.

The big sheep rug that had once been in the middle had been replaced with a tacky ass braided oval. It was probably very expensive and purchased from one of those “free trade” boutiques, as if anything that comes from capitalism or a comparable system of alienating economy could ever be free. It was very fucking expensive, I’m sure.

They both talked about looking for me on the internet, and in waking I realize that these are my two most likely relatives to do this, aside from my other cousin who I can’t find.

And they both talked about how all they could find was topless pictures. So many topless pictures, they kept saying. I remember telling them the same thing I’ve always said, that I don’t want to end up like my grandmother, their matriarch, not the one who’s house we were sitting in.

And maybe that’s the point of the dream, right there

I was looking my cousin right in the face as I spoke, which thinking about it is an excellent way tat the brain has to check itself in dream. Humans are wired to read faces, and so speaking into her face, which was conjured up by my mind, is an excellent prediction fo what I honestly think about what I was saying, as well as what I think about what she would think. After all, why did I pick her. I picked her, it’s my dream.

This came out good, not for lack of effort. I’m glad I came here today, and I’m happy that I trusted the process enough to come here even when I wasn’t sure.

My coffee is cold, and I don’t care.

My friend is coming back tonight, and this time we will actually talk.

Maybe I’ll get my nails done

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