To All the Boys I’ve Accidentally Slept With

I have nothing pressing, so I can write here, even though it is so late in the day. I deserved to sleep late, I’m not mad at it.

I have a bad feeling about my new job – my boss did not call when he said he would, was I suppose to call?

Mercury is in retrograde, I’ll try to relax about it.

I don’t know why I look forward to writing here so much. I’m not getting paid, and the resulting donations to Tor from the ad money here are literally like a few dollars, if that (I should really check at some point), and I’m not sure if the psychological impact is really all that it could have been, or enough to warrant spending the last two reasonable business hours of a day that I really could use, on this. But here I am, happy.

Last night I had a good dream which is fading, but I’ll try to record it.

I think I lived in town – a trashy, bleak version of this town that I don’t think I’ve dreamed of before. I try, yet try not to, connect the places in my dream to the places as I have actually been, as it both helps me remember and yet morphs the memories. Is it better that they go, or stay in their distorted form?

I was going to a club, to meet a boy that I had accidentally slept with at some point, perhaps earlier in the evening.

The actual events and scene are gone except for a feeling – it was dark and cool, with the soft asphalt of small back alleys under my feet, which were wearing less than practical sportswear. I could feel that I was dressed slightly less than appropriate for the weather. The occasional splash of fluorescent light sprayed out from storeways (I meant it to be store windows and doorways, but wtf. Thinking of it, I should see what my friend around the corner is doing) as I was walking, where was I going?

I think I was leaving one bar, and going to another. My friends, or at least people I hadn’t seen in forever and probably would have considered me friends (again I should call my friends) in the loose social sense of the bar scene, were going to another, floor level bar. I was going down to a cooler place that honestly, the real world equivalent of it I haven’t been to in forever, and really should go, down around an underpass on the dark side of town.

Walking, I caught up with a woman. She was very tall, looking down on me, and wearing a crisp white button down shirt tied tightly at the midriff, and maybe a white tube bra underneath. She had really long legs, and a short navy blue pleated skirt. She was wearing some kind of jacket that was dark, but I didn’t see. was it black faux fur? Her purse had a chain strap, and it was long in a style that I can never stand to wear myself.

She was gorgeous. White, perfect skin, like the undisturbed surface on a saucer of cream. The contours of her face were perfect as she looked down the long line of her nose at me, and smiled with lips that only hinted at the color pink. Her hair was a dark chocolate brown, the good chocolate (like the several bars that my last suitor gave me, which I never eat, and I have to call him) and curly in large waves that showed the color and shine even in the dark, catching the scraps of available light as we walked under streetlights.

I remember wanting to kiss her so badly, except she was wearing a white shirt, and at that angle I might hit my chin on her and get my dark brown makeup on her.

New WordPress really is trash, on fire in a can, but just a slow roast. Like that Philly tire fire that apparently went on for 12 years. I have to go to Philly again soon, I knew that if I told anyone everything would be ruined. Now it is all ruined. My boss probably died, got in a massive car accident right after hitting send on the email that said he’d call at 5:30, or had a heart attack, and now I’m stuck getting so close to the job I want and everything is ruined. Thank god I didn’t quit my other job yet, which I hate.

This music sucks and it’s making me edgy.

That is not what I wanted to spend the citation on… That woman, her face. She was so hot. Being honest with myself, I am rarely as attracted to women as I make a show of. Even more honest, I am much more rarely attracted to people at all. But this woman… she was so tall that I was looking almost directly into her cleavage, and I so desperately wanted to see if her nipples were that same shade of tannish pink as her lips.

It occurs to me that she looked somewhat like what the boy would look like as a woman, he does have fantastic legs.

And that familiar fear of hugging friends who wear white clothing… I know that too. But it’s weird that I was wearing makeup in my dreams.

I was thinking that I should google that old bar that was down around the underpass on the far side of town behind my old house… so pathetic.

I can just walk there.

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