It feels like forever since I’ve written here, I went to sleep last night excited that I knew I could in the morning. Perhaps as a result, my dreams were wild, vivid, and varied. So much so that I don’t think I could possibly recount them all, without sacrificing too many details to make the memory useful.
The same could be said for my waking life, so I’m not sure… I wish I had the time to do this every day anymore, but between everything and everything else. I can see why people feel lost in life, in ways I never have. I wonder if they feel lost in life in the way I have, to the extent where they would have more advice to offer me than just to live like they do.
I have to face the fact that my life is a lie. I have to live my truth, as they say.
I had a dream about picking music.
I was sitting in an upstairs loft in what I assume is another house in my current neighborhood, which I love. It was walking distance from my current apartment, which I also love. It was a living room in a “bohemian” style apartment, presumably shared between two women, one of which looks like a girl in my town who I have also seen on Hinge. She is very pale, with a drawn face and large round eyes, and perfect lips. She is beautiful. The apartment had an exposed brick wall, against which was a low dusty purple velvet sofa, and around the room were various sitting places. I believe I was seated at a small old looking bistro table with two inset wicker back chairs, finished in a chestnut stain.
The room had the same amber honey lighting1 that the boy likes so much.
I was sitting, telling them all a story2 that never happened… which now I can’t quite remember, which is the problem with lying when you get older.
The story was of a sexual nature, and included people that they knew, vaguely3. I was telling them about fucking a man on a Sunday morning, and turning it into an intense religious roleplay, including a St. Andrews cross, and a discussion we had about music, where he had said that he liked (some band from 1992 or earlier) and I like Prodigy (from 1996), and somehow we determined that Depeche Mode from 1994 should be our personal soundtrack.
I don’t even know if I knew in my dream that the conversation had happened.I hate footnotes because I spend so much time finagling the annotation that I lose my train of thought entirely, turning what would have been a great stream of consciousness into a spurts and trickles. 1. Can I put a quote within a quote? 2021 questions. 3. However they probably knew these people better than me, which is also a problem.
I need more friends. The friends I have are all great for their purposes, most of them are too far for what I want right now – a distraction.
I have a swirling, slightly abrasive feeling in my stomach today, I would like to go and get stuff done. A true day off, I want to do things. Unfortunately, with no friends, there is nothing to do. I have things that I want to do, and none of them seem appealing, I want to start something new.
I have creativity and problem solving skills, but no passion… that’s my problem. I remember the boy, describing himself as he often does (omg so often, how do I make sure that I don’t become an asshole <=== this is the constant struggle of my life) as a passionate person. Obsessive, really, would be my word, and fickle about it as well. Good thing he doesn’t do coke, or those fixations would probably make him explode. I have no idea why people clarify themselves as attention deficit, when they seem to be absolutely the opposite. Just absolutely, fundamentally unable to flow. They’re hyper focused, just not on the point of the conversation, situation, or life in general.
I took melatonin last night, and my head is fuzzy. I can tell while I’m typing that my mind is still elsewhere… I had a lot of other dreams, and some of them were creepy.
I was driving a pickup truck on a country highway <=== I know what I mean, non hicks won’t, someday no one will with urban sprawl. It was dark, but my headlights were bright. The bushes on the side were low, but lush.
There were people in the road, lying down, but alive. So many of them, dressed in dark streetwear, face down sprawled on a 60mph highway like some kind of super-morbid obstacle course1. Why?! I swerved trying not to hit them, not sure who they were or what they were doing. As my truck approached they rolled out of the road, creepily, and rolled back behind me. They never stood up.
As I left a bushy area, I saw headlights approaching from the other direction. I tried to shout out of my window to the creepy people that they were definitely going to get hit by the oncoming truck, but they were unresponsive to me. I drove on2
I don’t remember where I was coming from, or where I was going.1. I remember a prodigy video like that. 2. I’m Black, I know better than to pull over on a dark backwoods road and ask a bunch of strange people what they’re doing. That’s why it’s high irony that in 80’s horror movies the Black man dies first. We wouldn’t even *be* there, motherfucker, and we’d gtfo as soon as a lightbulb flickered and we saw that we were in the same room as a bunch of stupid white bitches that wouldn’t even be able to change it. Jordan Peele is a genius.
I scrolled back for the first time in this post… I’m so rusty.
I literally thought of 50 things I could say here besides what I know is on my mind, and I don’t want to spend my life running from it. Ok, “life” is dramatic, but my coffee is in fact running out and so here we go.
Tuesday was my side dude’s birthday. Drunk texting, he told me what I kind of already knew, and kind of already hoped for.
He has another girlfriend, I’m his side chick too. I’m pretty happy about it, but it does change things. Not really, but my fingers stalled after typing that.
Not really, but we need to have a conversation about it. Wtf, I’m an adult and I can do it.
I had no idea. Who am I to be mad thoughReading my response to his whole confession like that, I do seem like quite the bitch. I didn’t mean it that way.
There I said it, and my coffee is done.