(no subject)
I've been having really vivid dreams lately. Yesterday was the dream about a sort of "friendship pow-wow", where I sat Indian-style with people from highschool who haven't yet come home from college and waited for, as it soon became apparent, the final friend to return home: Charlie. I was explaining to someone unlucky enough to sit near me that I'm deemed a social outcast of sorts these days, ostracized by everyone already home; but he quickly dismissed whatever I was saying to greet Charlie, who had just made his entrance. Charlie shook hands, did a pseudo-political circuit almost, and then (finally) hugged me. I embarrassedly teared up and was about to break down when Mom's alarm went off - for a woman who was late even for her wedding, her timing was impeccable this once. Sucks to break down in front of friends, doesn't it? It also is unbelievably depressing to break down alone, but I moved past that stage at least a year ago.
The dream I had this morning was scarier, longer - in my appartment, relaxing with friends, I received word that Gestapo would be invading any minute. We searched for hiding places; I thought that if I took the secret passage through the back into a restaurant and sat down with some random people, I wouldn't get caught. A little boy drinking bumblebee tea with his mommy looked promising. Unfortunately, they, too, were pegged as accomplices to me and were carted off. We were led in packs of hundreds, but I somehow escaped to some other corridor where I met a girl my age. She led me up to a pro-Nazi rally. Her mother, a high-ranking Nazi, hissed at her for leading me anywhere near the grand stand. I was pushed into the back where I hid. Turns out, this was just rehearsal for a Hamden High mainstage ensemble show. I saw familiar faces as I walked into the back of the theater with my script, but I felt the play was a little too real.
Meanwhile, real life has been nothing but shadows and alleys of my past. The only people I see are the ones I never expected; perhaps I should take some "college cues" and walk those paths instead. Seems nothing is actually dependable anymore.
Driving is as cathartic as two old boyfriends once claimed. One of them drove with his foot out the window, the other drove with his brain out the window. Fitting, since one gave me the boot and the other drove me crazy. Those days are too similar to these days - empty and promising. Mom said this transition would give me trouble, which is just great. As if transitions didn't give me enough trouble as it is. It took me a year to transition from das boot to das craziness, and another year to transition from crazy to depressed to relieved. Is relief supposed to hold out on me for that long?
So anyway, driving. No license yet, but working way to there. Dog sleeping peacefully on couch. Ben likens cuteness to the pudu. Becky likens cuteness to Ben. Dog likens cuteness to a good piece of stale bread, or maybe her own mother, who she was physically abusing in a rather unkosher way. Brings all new meaning to "animal sex". Tema and I meet a lot and talk. Ahem. Not about animal sex, per se.
Maybe music is the only way I'll ever find sanity. Or maybe Charlie is. Or maybe carrying someone else's four bouquets of roses is. Compulsive buying, either way, is a great short-term fix. I used to think torturing my dogs was cathartic, but after my return from the midwest, I decided Short-hair Pointers are much friendlier.
The dream I had this morning was scarier, longer - in my appartment, relaxing with friends, I received word that Gestapo would be invading any minute. We searched for hiding places; I thought that if I took the secret passage through the back into a restaurant and sat down with some random people, I wouldn't get caught. A little boy drinking bumblebee tea with his mommy looked promising. Unfortunately, they, too, were pegged as accomplices to me and were carted off. We were led in packs of hundreds, but I somehow escaped to some other corridor where I met a girl my age. She led me up to a pro-Nazi rally. Her mother, a high-ranking Nazi, hissed at her for leading me anywhere near the grand stand. I was pushed into the back where I hid. Turns out, this was just rehearsal for a Hamden High mainstage ensemble show. I saw familiar faces as I walked into the back of the theater with my script, but I felt the play was a little too real.
Meanwhile, real life has been nothing but shadows and alleys of my past. The only people I see are the ones I never expected; perhaps I should take some "college cues" and walk those paths instead. Seems nothing is actually dependable anymore.
Driving is as cathartic as two old boyfriends once claimed. One of them drove with his foot out the window, the other drove with his brain out the window. Fitting, since one gave me the boot and the other drove me crazy. Those days are too similar to these days - empty and promising. Mom said this transition would give me trouble, which is just great. As if transitions didn't give me enough trouble as it is. It took me a year to transition from das boot to das craziness, and another year to transition from crazy to depressed to relieved. Is relief supposed to hold out on me for that long?
So anyway, driving. No license yet, but working way to there. Dog sleeping peacefully on couch. Ben likens cuteness to the pudu. Becky likens cuteness to Ben. Dog likens cuteness to a good piece of stale bread, or maybe her own mother, who she was physically abusing in a rather unkosher way. Brings all new meaning to "animal sex". Tema and I meet a lot and talk. Ahem. Not about animal sex, per se.
Maybe music is the only way I'll ever find sanity. Or maybe Charlie is. Or maybe carrying someone else's four bouquets of roses is. Compulsive buying, either way, is a great short-term fix. I used to think torturing my dogs was cathartic, but after my return from the midwest, I decided Short-hair Pointers are much friendlier.