I'm so clever, but clever ain't wise
I don't like when you dream about people and you know they aren't really like that in real life, but the way you dream them up to be is quite nice.
Last night I had the unfortunate fortune to dream about Pete Doherty. All. Night. Long. I mean, I would wake up, go back to sleep, and the story would continue. It was bizarre.
Pete Doherty, for anyone who doesn't know, is a dirty, dirty rock star. The kind of drug and disease-addled person that you fear catching things from looking at them a bit too long. If he sweated on me at a show, I'd probably feel the need to get checked.
Yuck.
Now, he's written some music I think is okay, he's usually in the gossip columns uncomprehendingly attached to Kate Moss, and sometime I show up at places where he's supposed to be playing, and he never makes it because he's usually been arrested. But that's about as involved as my head gets into thinking about Pete Doherty.
So why does my brain choose him to spend the entire night dreaming about a developing relationship?
My version of Pete was much cleaner and better looking. I was working in some capacity for his band where they were around a lot, and when he'd come in he'd flirt with all the girls and we'd all twitter away in delight. Until it got to the point where I was mostly working by his side and we knew each other quite well and he was constantly coming onto me and I liked it.
At one point I dreamt that he tried to sell me his beat up car for 45 quid so he could buy drugs, and made me take it for a test drive, and we got into a car accident because the brakes were broken. I feel this is probably more typical Pete Doherty behavior!!
But he came to visit me in the hospital feeling very badly about it, and I think this is where our love truly blossomed. Because next thing I know we're in New York City and we've decided to move there together, and I'm telling him we must buy a house in the Village as I won't live anywhere else. And I was very happy because I loved him and he loved me back.
And that was that.
All night long this went on!
And I'm not too dense to figure it out, but I would prefer not to think about it.
Last night I had the unfortunate fortune to dream about Pete Doherty. All. Night. Long. I mean, I would wake up, go back to sleep, and the story would continue. It was bizarre.
Pete Doherty, for anyone who doesn't know, is a dirty, dirty rock star. The kind of drug and disease-addled person that you fear catching things from looking at them a bit too long. If he sweated on me at a show, I'd probably feel the need to get checked.
Yuck.
Now, he's written some music I think is okay, he's usually in the gossip columns uncomprehendingly attached to Kate Moss, and sometime I show up at places where he's supposed to be playing, and he never makes it because he's usually been arrested. But that's about as involved as my head gets into thinking about Pete Doherty.
So why does my brain choose him to spend the entire night dreaming about a developing relationship?
My version of Pete was much cleaner and better looking. I was working in some capacity for his band where they were around a lot, and when he'd come in he'd flirt with all the girls and we'd all twitter away in delight. Until it got to the point where I was mostly working by his side and we knew each other quite well and he was constantly coming onto me and I liked it.
At one point I dreamt that he tried to sell me his beat up car for 45 quid so he could buy drugs, and made me take it for a test drive, and we got into a car accident because the brakes were broken. I feel this is probably more typical Pete Doherty behavior!!
But he came to visit me in the hospital feeling very badly about it, and I think this is where our love truly blossomed. Because next thing I know we're in New York City and we've decided to move there together, and I'm telling him we must buy a house in the Village as I won't live anywhere else. And I was very happy because I loved him and he loved me back.
And that was that.
All night long this went on!
And I'm not too dense to figure it out, but I would prefer not to think about it.