I'm turning into one of those people who feels wounded and then goes out and intentionally wounds others; cool, huh?
Who the hell is she to haunt my dreams?
She came into my dream last night and represented everything inside of me that I hate: helpless, hurtfully-hopeful. She's never done anything to me. She's never even been rude. But there's this thing -- ewww -- with her being where I think she doesn't belong.
Fingers laced, telling me to wait, and I woke up groaning.
Today is splintered with ice, and I'd like to become invisible, but I've got errands to do involving the housekeeper and fixing the Suburban. I would like to lie in bed all day. Focusing intently on my negative feelings until I exhausted them and they ran from me. But as it is I'll have to just let my aching heart throb silently all day until it gets no attention at all and just seems normal.
Jon called last night, and he wants to hang out this weekend. He's busy working on a movie -- since he's a film student this makes sense -- but he would like to see me later in the evenings.
Normally I wouldn't become aggressive about spending only fractured time with a guy I'd just met, but I'm ravenous for distraction. I called him first and said I wanted to shoot pool in a seedy pool-hall and drink dark liquors, and if he wanted to come along to give me a call.
So I'll go into the city tonight,
and watch a movie,
or go to a museum,
or peruse the decorations,
or find a concert,
and then I'll find Jon
in the late night
and let him make me feel
cute,
and smart,
and funny,
and sexy,
and I'll drink enough to fool
myself
into forgetting that
I'm just using him
for a good time,
and then I'll see
if I can sleep
next to him
in his bed,
and in the morning
I'll wonder
where I am,
and who I'm with,
and as I wash the taste out
of my mouth
I'll remember that
I constructed the reality
of that moment
and it's all my fault,
and I should feel guilty,
but I won't.
Columbia House is selling Denison Marrs' "Holding Hands @ 35,000 Feet" for $2.99, ya'll. Get you some.
My new underwear feels good, but the pushup offers no significance that I previously lacked. The topographical map of Michaela looks like Nebraska, without the corn. Mom's a DD; she's so stingy!
