DREAM: In the back lot of my old church. The pastor, his wife, Brandon Holmes, and a slew of other people are taking photos of this new exotic plant that was found, some kind of gift from Heaven. It’s round, orange, and spotty with slim thorns sticking out of it, reminiscent of a Horned Melon fruit. They’ve got them on tall sticks like staffs. A bunch of Navy men are posing for a photo holding a huge bouquet of them—kind of sticking some of the plant on their skin because their Navy men and they can take pain. I’m off to the side just watching this. I walk over to my car. Doug and I are packing it up with luggage. Preston is in the driver’s seat and starts to move the car. “Weston! Not yet. We’re not ready.” I realize I called him by the wrong name and rephrase, “Preston!” Eventually, we arrive in a gargantuan office building, looks more like a mall. Doug and I are riding in some sort of wheelchair together, but he’s in control of the maneuvering. Trying to follow Preston as he opens the elevator to go up to visit this big time CEO or manager named Ken Andrews (I envision him as a tall black man). As the elevator doors open up Doug reverses our cart far back first and then pulls forward but we’re too late, the doors shut. I curse out loud. One of the security guards confronts us because he thinks I have a weapon and tries to escort us out. I get out of my chair and assure him that this bulge under my shirt is not a gun. I pull out a hot stack of soft chocolate chip cookies in plastic wrap. I sit down with the guard and try to persuade him to just have one and that they’re good. He’s not giving in. All of a sudden, Margot brushes by us with a rolling suitcase. It’s understood she’s starting a position to work as a secretary for this Ken Andrews character. I touch her arm to show her I’m happy for her new job. But she doesn’t really turn around and keeps walking forward. She’s wearing a sea green dress—her bare ankles are showing a tan line around them as if she wore socks there too often or maybe shackles? Either way she’s about to hop on the elevator with Ken Andrews and some other people. I get a strong urge to follow. I want to see her to the office. I start gathering my things, my book bag, and some plastic bags with food in it. Getting frustrated because things keep falling out and I can’t seem to handle holding everything. The elevators doors are shutting and I miss my opportunity. There’s a doorman. I ask him, “Which floor is Ken Andrews on?” He gives me an answer I know isn’t right. I repeat the question. Finally he says, “528.” [I wasn’t aware of this in the dream until I woke up, but 528 is the love frequency I learned about the other week]. I’m with a few buddies. We get into the elevator. Doors shut. The ceiling is leaking water. I guess it’s raining outside. I’m angry. “Why is it leaking in here? I can’t stand anywhere without getting wet.” I look at the buttons and there’s only 3 options, 2, 8, 18. One of the guys that is with me taps the 18 button. Apparently this is only a transfer car, so we have to get off at 18 and transfer to another car that can take us to the 500’s. I’m so anxious to see her.
Breakfast: Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.
Researching.
Practicing.
Eating an English Muffin with Peanut Butter.
Playing a solo Musicplayer show at The Taphouse along with Phillip Roebuck. Feeling okay about my performance—I felt inclined to say something cliché into the mike with regards to Valentine’s Day, “If you find love, like true love, don’t let it slip away.” The bartender offers me a light beer on tap. Just as I’m exchanging hellos with Kelly, who plays accordion in the other act, her arm knocks the beer out of my hand and the glass shatters on the floor. I go back for a Raspberry Wheat beer called a “Dirty Hoe”. A better choice anyway.
I don’t feel very complete right now.
Sitting down with Tristan Stewart and a few female friends he knows from Hampton—small talk. Phillip Roebuck starts his set with a banjo and a kick drum/tambourine device that he created to attach around his back and connect to both his feet, a legitimate one-man band—incredible up-tempo foot-stompin’ bluegrass. I leave halfway through the performance…
At Elliott’s apartment—hanging out with him and his friend Shelby. Sharing white wine. I bring up topics of love and all the shambles one can go through with love. It’s actually a productive conversation—both of them have good personal insight. Feeling woosy and tipsy….
But I head over to Jon Reynold’s place for a little bit, technically Doug’s place too now. Both of them are there along with Emily and Wesley. It’s good to see my friends, the ones I can have fun with, the ones that can make me smile. Eating some of Emily’s fresh baked Cinnamon Coffee Cake. “Chalking it up” on the wall, in other words, drawing pictures and words with chalk. Doug shows me all of his new findings from thrift stores. “Doug, I can just see you 30 years from now. You’re gonna have your own little thrift shop or consignment shop somewhere in Nashville. You’ve got really long hair, same glasses, but no beard. You’ll be sitting there behind the counter reading—and still narcoleptic.”
Saying goodbye. I head out to my car parked on the street. The night is windy and cool but such a beautiful feeling. I just wanted to call you, just to call. On the phone with Margot—she’s in the middle of closing up at her work. I feel weaker the less contact I have with you. Talking about her weekend plans and such…
Newspaper route. This is definitely not a money making route compared to the Chesapeake one. But it is a lot closer to home and takes less time.
Eating an Egg Salad Sandwich with a Banana and Vitamin Water from 7-11.
Researching—wasting my time—frustrated with the amount of crap one has to sift through to get to legit information and files.
I tried and tried today to distract myself. But I am still missing. My heart is missing. You were in my head all day surrounding everything I did. Oh baby! I wish you could feel this love that I feel right now for you. I hope you can regain your passion in me. That would save me.
Sleep 10:20 a.m.
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