Dreams, Realities and In-Betweens vs Twitter
Look at me. Look at me. I'm rambling.
1.
I'm running again through halls and doorways. Beat-up sneakers skidding across marble floors and gasps for air are the only sounds accompanying the panic of being lost. Again. This dream takes part inside a Catholic Church this time, but it always starts the same way -- I walk in looking for somebody.
I step into the most extraordinary foyer -- checkered floors of black and white, dark green pillars and bronze statues. I manage to navigate myself and pick all the right doors. Then, I'm face-to-face with whomever I've been looking for and start conversation.
"I'll meet you outside". I ALWAYS agree. If I had picked all the right doors previously, I pick all the wrong ones this time -- spiraling staircases, locked doors, narrow pathways across endless pits, huge animals. My imagination conjures the most absurd obstacles.
I am so sick of this dream.
2.
Next week, I start a new phase in werk. I have what my dad calls: "healthy anxiety", but sometimes I think I'm just scared shitless. At the same time, I don't have the luxury of sitting around, thinking about being scared and strategizing how I'm going to cope. Life is changing so fast and I feel like a piece of furniture in the scheme of things. I used to talk a lot about stepping forward and stepping back, but now I'm just dancing around in a spot that moves on its own.
There has been spillovers - I can't help it = Drama.
Life, bring it. I am so f*ckin' ready.
3.
"What?" - that is the word most heavily exchanged between us, which I return in a series of head shakes, shrugs and smiles. I have looked upon your face because a part of me believes I am still wandering about on my own, hand in hand with a sick fantasy I have cultured for some time. I am taking the escalator to the rooftop sharing small talk with the metal railings. I bring a sandwich, a piece of cake or a candy bar, which I toss into the air and it disappears. I blow smoke from the backseat, leaning on the cardoor and my 11 year old interior smells like your Italian cologne.
Unreal. I've said it more than once - it is unreal. However, I will continue to feed the part that chases this new reality instead of the part that thinks I'm just insane.
4.
After 34235123 clicks on the refresh button, I just gave up. Twitter, you're such a tease with your over-capacity messages and your fail whale. Palpak.
C'mon, you're serving as some sort of umbilical cord or digital papercups attached with strings. My attempt at keeping in touch is sad enough. Please don't make me more pathetic than I intend to be.
Okay, seriously need to get some sleep. Twitter bakla.
1.
I'm running again through halls and doorways. Beat-up sneakers skidding across marble floors and gasps for air are the only sounds accompanying the panic of being lost. Again. This dream takes part inside a Catholic Church this time, but it always starts the same way -- I walk in looking for somebody.
I step into the most extraordinary foyer -- checkered floors of black and white, dark green pillars and bronze statues. I manage to navigate myself and pick all the right doors. Then, I'm face-to-face with whomever I've been looking for and start conversation.
"I'll meet you outside". I ALWAYS agree. If I had picked all the right doors previously, I pick all the wrong ones this time -- spiraling staircases, locked doors, narrow pathways across endless pits, huge animals. My imagination conjures the most absurd obstacles.
I am so sick of this dream.
2.
Next week, I start a new phase in werk. I have what my dad calls: "healthy anxiety", but sometimes I think I'm just scared shitless. At the same time, I don't have the luxury of sitting around, thinking about being scared and strategizing how I'm going to cope. Life is changing so fast and I feel like a piece of furniture in the scheme of things. I used to talk a lot about stepping forward and stepping back, but now I'm just dancing around in a spot that moves on its own.
There has been spillovers - I can't help it = Drama.
Life, bring it. I am so f*ckin' ready.
3.
"What?" - that is the word most heavily exchanged between us, which I return in a series of head shakes, shrugs and smiles. I have looked upon your face because a part of me believes I am still wandering about on my own, hand in hand with a sick fantasy I have cultured for some time. I am taking the escalator to the rooftop sharing small talk with the metal railings. I bring a sandwich, a piece of cake or a candy bar, which I toss into the air and it disappears. I blow smoke from the backseat, leaning on the cardoor and my 11 year old interior smells like your Italian cologne.
Unreal. I've said it more than once - it is unreal. However, I will continue to feed the part that chases this new reality instead of the part that thinks I'm just insane.
4.
After 34235123 clicks on the refresh button, I just gave up. Twitter, you're such a tease with your over-capacity messages and your fail whale. Palpak.
C'mon, you're serving as some sort of umbilical cord or digital papercups attached with strings. My attempt at keeping in touch is sad enough. Please don't make me more pathetic than I intend to be.
Okay, seriously need to get some sleep. Twitter bakla.