DREAM: I’m going back to high school for some reason to finish 11th and 12th grade. Sitting in the classroom next to Jes—a few of my other friends are there. It’s a math class. The teacher is Louis. And he wants us to take a water and bathroom break. I saunter off into the gymnasium—working on the math homework and playing music. I hear the bell ring and I’m late getting back to class. I walk into the classroom and the session is already over. Louis calls me up to his desk with a grin on his face. I explain to him exactly what I did and apologize, “Sorry. I lost track of time. It really flies by. But I already finished the math assignment.” I thought maybe that would impress him and get me off the hook. Everyone is heading to the busses to go home. I’m walking for what seems like forever down the school hallways—lockers—classrooms—a black girl and her kids running by. Outside I’m near the front line of busses looking for mine. I remember the bus number being “1034”—looking and looking. I hear someone call out my name. It’s Mab waving her arm at me from inside a bus. The number painted on it is “134”. I look in and see familiar faces from earlier this morning. Louis is the driver too. He tells me to hurry. Attempting to sit next to Mab but a little guy is already next to her. I ask the two female midgets in the seat just in front of her, “Mind if I sit here?” They’re so tiny I know I can definitely fit. Louis starts driving the bus and maneuvers out of the line of busses earlier than he’s supposed to. I don’t know what the hurry is. Talking with Mab about how weird it is for me to be back in high school again. I have a strong desire to put my head on her shoulder. I notice Margot is sitting across the way. I move over and plop down next to her instead (feeling somewhat obligated but also with that same strong desire) and place my head in her lap—feeling comfortable.
5:30 p.m. I wake up.
Emily barges into my room and tackles her arms around me.
Me: “You can’t just barge in here like it’s your room.”
Emily: “But I love you.”
Me: “I just woke up.”
Emily: “I’m going to wait till you get happy and then I’m gonna hug you again.”
Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin E.
Radio Shack. Big Lots.
House Show at 1623 with Digging Up Virgins, You’re Jovian, and MUSICPLAYER.
Eating a Grilled Cheese. Drinking Honey Oolong Tea.
Standing in the kitchen—the mass of people heating up all the rooms in the house. JP walks in with plans to just stop by and visit but only to find out a rock n roll show is in progress. He got into some argument with his grandpa earlier and seemed distressed. Even though he can easily hide stuff like that with his warming personality, I could see through it. He tells me he has a strong desire to play the guitar in response.
Shortly after the show there’s a jam session. I join in the beginning—Rocky hops on the violin—everyone taking turns on different instruments. A girl named Jesse brings in her digital piano—playing quite beautifully.
Sitting on the couch talking with Will about this dream tincture he concocted from various herbs. He’s giving me half a bottle to try for a month. I’m supposed to take a ½ tablespoon every night before I go to sleep and in effect my dreams will become more vivid and possibly lucid.
Snacking on Salt N Vinegar Chips.
Margot comes over—we had made plans to hang out after the show. She’s sitting on the couch messaging back and forth on her iphone. I’m washing dishes. Some of the others are just getting back from Rick’s Café. There’s a small insignificant confrontation between her and Rocky. I take her to my van. As we’re driving to the storage unit the hatefulness switch turns on. Whatever happened back there sparked a fire of bitterness in her. I try to convince her it’s not worth it and to forget about it and not to let it ruin our night. But she’s had it. Nothing I say is helping and she finds a way to turn it around on me. Our plans are ruined.
Trying to pipe down with a cup of tea.
Your negativity affects me in a way I’ve never felt before. It turns me into an angry less-than-confident monster. Why don’t you have the ability to see past yourself? I wish you could hear the cruel things you say to me.
She calls me back. On the floor stretching my body out while on the phone with her—engaging ourselves in a circular repetitive conversation that doesn’t seem to resolve. She’s threatening me with things like “I’m never speaking to you again,” and “We’re over.”
If only I had recorded all the words her and I shared tonight you could see insecurity and drama at it’s finest. There’s just no way to convey what happened unless you were actually there to observe it.
It’s cold outside. I go for a run despite. In haste I spout out profanity and words of frustration—increasing the speed of my pace—flailing my arms as if I was in a boxing match—even praying.
Dinner: White Kidney Bean and Lentil Soup with Mixed Vegetables and Rice. Garlic Bread.
Art walks out of his room confused on the time. Apparently his phone went forward an hour without his knowing.
If life were only as simple as a question and answer book.
Sleep 8:15 a.m.
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