It Was Only Supposed to Be About the Dream. Oops.

[catatonicia]

I had a dream about van Gogh last night.

That cannot be a good sign.  Especially when the first time I tried to type that sentence it came out as, "Van Gogh had a dream about me last night."   Shit.

I don't know where the fuck my head is, but I need to get my shit together.  Otherwise I'm going to fuck myself up royally here, fuck up graduate

Comments

[catatonicia]

I know you do, and that's one of the reasons I'm not completely fucked out of my skull yet. I also know that aspects of this thinking are normal, but others...not so much. But I can't get my brain to stop going, "Is this it? Is this all there is? All there is ever going to be?" It pisses me off to no end.

God, I remember the Indian guy and the snow caving roof. I can still remember just how much it scared the shit out of me; scared me like you would not even believe. Whether you were aware of not. I just remember the overwhelming despair at not being able to do anything over the situation in general; that place was so bad for you. Although that's an understatement and three quarters, there. Plus I remember the Indian guy setting off stories about the guys your dad had to deal with back then.

I'm lucky that I have Lily so close, although not having her here, or anyone really, is probably exacerbating this issue. I have very little to take my mind off of it since I'm trying not to spend obscene amounts of money and buying more than I can bring back. If I have to mail anything home, I'm in so much shit, I may as well not even go back. Not even kidding. The fact that the thought of, "In the event that happens, I could always mail it to Lily's office and then pick it up when I see her and bring it back in my purse," even crossed my mind is sad. I'm more isolated than I've ever been in some ways, but it's not a bad kind -- she's there, I'm talking with you, Nikkai, got rid of Squiff -- so it's fine in some ways.

I'm crap at discipline, but we all knew that. I basically can write successfully for one and a half weeks a month and that's problematic. Until you realize that I wrote almost 30,000 words in a weekend, not counting everything else during the week. Hell, I could spend the rest of the month editing and still be fine at that rate. The problem is coming up with the ideas to keep me going at a pace. I know that I have ambition, I just don't know where to aim it. That's always been my problem, though.

As for van Gogh, this is the fourth dream that I've ever had involving him. The first was right before my art history AP test and he told me to quit over thinking everything (not just the test, natch), the second was almost immediately after and I told him he was an ass for coming just to say, "I told you so." ::laughs:: The third was when I was completely fucked out of my skull second year of college and it was a warning/comfort thing. This time...actually there was sort of beauty to it (to all of them really, but I don't know how familiar you are with them. I can't remember if I've written about them in detail here). I'm half tempted to write it down, but I just haven't slowed down long enough to do so. This one freaked me out because he came to get me. That had never happened before. So it was disconcerting, but comforting ultimately. Even though I was like, "Oh shit, this only happens when I'm in a bad state of mind." And yet, I still cherish them. I had to fight not to lose the third one to that time, and yet, it wasn't that much of a struggle. I sound completely crazy, but that bastard is wedged deep in some part of my mind and I don't know why. They freak me out, though. Especially whenever I saw one of the locations in my dream and had never seen it as his work before, commented on it and got a vague, "You will," which set me off (we're very argumentative, which I think is hilarious) -- then when the van Gogh exhibit came through my junior year, I was in the last room and about passed out when I was standing in front of the two rooms that I had seen in my head alone. Didn't help that it was the mental institution he stayed at, either. I didn't move for a very long time after that. I was a little surprised I didn't get another, "Told you so," dream after that, though. A little disappointed.

....I sound so fucking weird sometimes. Sometimes? Ha. But seriously, thank you for your words, as always. Even now, I still find them immensely comforting and hold them close. It's times like that I realize that my core hasn't changed nearly as much as I once thought, and I still think that's a good thing sometimes.

[catatonicia]

I may not always know what to make of it, but it is oddly endearing.

It's good to know that even after all of these years it's still endearing and not obnoxious. ::grins::

They're always there if you need them. That much is a given.

I always loved your words, but you knew that. There is a certain part of me that even now, you still set at ease just by being you and being here; perhaps that will still strike you as strange, but it is true. I'm grateful as well, more than I could ever possibly express, but you knew that, too.