I feel overwhelmed today.

I have no plans, but need some. There is so much to do. Yet, rather than get any of it done, I just want to go outside, maybe find a new boy, just a distraction from all this mess that keeps building up.

My apartment is a mess. There’s some things I should do about that, but right now I’m just disappointed that I moved, got a new beautiful apartment, and have ruined it. I remember when my best friend (who I can’t find, why doesn’t she call me?) lamenting over the fact that she couldn’t keep her house neat, and how she was going to be an unfit mother. I can relate.

I’m not pregnant, by the way.

There’s a vitriol in my stomach, like someone dropped a glass bottle of vinegar against the hard floor of my abdomen, when I think of my ex. We have to decide things today, however, he is not cooperating and I can’t figure out why. I can’t figure out why I should care. He’s so awful.

Let’s get all the ridiculousness out of the way, it’s so much easier to deal with than the rest of the real stuff.

The boy is out of commission for the weekend, not that he ever was 100% anyway. I have put forth the effort to have an honest relationship with him, but in actuality, he doesn’t want that. I have a whole world here that allows me my fantasies, and don’t need another. I suppose he still doesn’t, and needs that. However, that kind of work is paid, and should be paid. And he’s not paying. I have to get back to concentrating on that life.

Of course, on cue, he texted. Nothing meaningful.

We were talking last night (and I’m forcing myself through this dialogue, what is it that I’m distracting myself from) and while I was going to say something I recognize that it’s meaningless and I should move on.

I took melatonin last night and had a full, deep sleep for the first time in a while, and I’m appreciative of that. I’m not sure if I want to go into dreams, which were dark and disturbing, but what else is really going to happen today.

I was in a house, an old run down house, and it was night. Apparently this place was operating as a house party / underground strip club, and apparently I was going to perform (I’m a terrible stripper). I was supposed to go up to one of the rooms to get a girl.

It was apparent, in the way that it only is in dreams, that this girl was dead, and that her ghost was who I was going for. Her ghost was haunting the house.

I remember that we were all wearing our stripper gear, and I chose a neon yellow bodystocking, the likes of which I probably have.

On my ass there had been something written in permanent marker, and I couldn’t get it off. I’m not sure how, but when one of the other anonymous strippers pointed it out, it was apparent that I had not showered for several days.

It was a childhood friend of mine, a redhead, in that beautiful Italian red way. She was so beautiful, and despite being so weird to each other (why am I always so weird) I consider her fondly and one of my best friends, though I doubt she ever thinks of me. However, she might… I should look her up after I’m done this cup of coffee.

I hope this dream doesn’t mean that she’s died… I have only one talent. <=== I should stop telling myself that. I have only one psychic talent. I have one very excellent talent, and that is listening to my intuition. My intuition has been sharpened and informed by my intelligence, and my openness which apparently is a separate aspect of personality for some reason. I think it should be obvious, to an intelligent person, that this world holds so much more than I’ve seen of it yet, and therefore openness should be a given for all intelligent people. There’s no way to avoid the unknown, at one point all of this was unknown to me, and the only way to change that (if I ever wanted to, did I?) would have been and will be to go out there and get about knowing it.

The five personality traits that lead to creativity… I hope I haven’t wasted all of them already. Let’s see.

I’ve answered several of the boys’ texts, with what was honestly on my mind. He never knows how to deal with that. I’m well on my way to really not giving a fuck about that. If he wants a normal life, he should go get a normal girl. There’s fucking plenty of those. If he does (going off into the forest of transference <=== I like that turn of phrase) then he’ll be dissatisfied. I wonder if I’ll be one of the stories he tells, or one of the stories he doesn’t.

I’m opening up for the day. Maybe it will be a good writing day. I could use another one of those.

I winced and teared up, when I was a kid my parents (pausing over that, capitals? which parent? Together they were unremarkable, I feel so sorry that they ended up together) had a dog with one eye. They spent a lot of money restoring it, but I was so young and I don’t know how it happened. I think I will call my Mother and ask, as I know my Father wouldn’t want to talk about it, or acknowledge the imperfection of anything, even himself. Maybe that’s why I should call him, and ask.

That’s as close as I’m going to get today, I think.

My last sip of coffee was lukewarm anyway.