Within every dream you were there…a conflict in every episode. Restless. I keep opening my eyes every hour on the hour with the same writhing feeling I first fell asleep to. The mood and emotion from waking life stays the same throughout my sleep cycle. Haunted. All night. Nothing changed. I wake up in the same bed in the same room in the same state in the same pool of despondent slime…
Waking up at 11 a.m.
Hello grey rain cloud.
All day shift at China Wok.
Italian Plums. Orange Juice.
Self-pity never achieved anything for anybody. But I can’t help that my eyes are on the verge of raining almost every minute of this day.
I should probably make clear the reasons for my dismay. At the end of August I once said, “It’s too delicate. And by exposing too much too soon it could ruin the beginning…” Well, it’s too late now because it was just enough to stop the flow…the flow of “the tribal fire breathing…” I don’t think I can fully describe how delicate I really am. I’ll explain as much as I feel appropriate and try to protect the innocent. Let me start off by stating that I live in a deep world…
A bit from an email I wrote: “I take deep breaths constantly. I live in a deep world, ***. A deep and vitalizing world where both darkness and lightness co-exist in harmony. I choose to be here. And I sense you have the same blood flowing in your veins, the kind that drives you to bliss every second of the day. I'm here. And I welcome you, *****. Because I know you'll appreciate this place...”
I talked of surrender. I was so eager. She had shown the same but already had a home. Even if it was at risk of falling apart, it was a home nonetheless, one that she cared about first and foremost. And I was still in the middle of moving out of my own home, one that I also cared about. She opened the door just enough to spark a curiosity and intrigue. I stepped in and caught a glimpse, still respecting boundaries and having reservations. But was it too much? Did I sabotage my chances at something beautiful in the process? I just want my friend back. That’s what I’m missing the most. The contact. The sharing. The level of communication. This is the most upsetting part about it all: separation and complete non-contact with someone that you hold close, someone whose friendship you value…
It showers—thick penetrating droplets from the sky. But only for 15 minutes and then it stops. How fitting. But it always smells so fresh after a good rain…
I stop at the house for food…
Lunch: Peanut Butter Bagel. Honey Green Tea.
Me: “Remember when I told you shit was about to hit the fan?”
Anthony: “Yeah…”
Me: “Well, it did.”
Anthony: “So what are you gonna do?”
Me: “I’m gonna lie low for a while…”
………
Me: “[ha] That’s not true. I’m gonna fight! You know me well enough.”
Anthony: “Yeah! That’s right!”
He starts hyping up the mood. Dustin runs downstairs…
Anthony: “Dustin! You ready to fight??? We’re going to Richmond.”
Shirtless Dustin starts hopping around rocking his arms like a boxer, “Yeah! I’m ready!”
I can’t control my laughter.
Dustin: “He called me a hipster collective!”
[Hahaha]
Me: “Oh my gosh…”
[Back story: There was some correspondence between Raven’s boyfriend and I a few days ago. And within one of the messages he used the phrase, “you and your hipster collective.” Of course I, nor anybody else, was that offended but it’s fun to act like we would be.]
Anthony finds it appropriate to play “Eye of the Tiger” on the computer and crank it up.
He exclaims, “The blog is mightier than the fist!”
We are making light of a serious matter. That’s okay with me. It’s not like we would actually trek to Richmond to start a fight. Peace and respect. But the comedy is helpful. Leave it to Anthony to brighten my day. Nothing’s sacred or secret here in this house…
The day continues…
Snacking on Blue and Yukon Gold Potato Chips and a Coke.
Delivering to Chase Pointe. It’s Joanne! She orders every now and then. Immediately I garnish her with a good hug.
A steady night for Chinese food.
Letting the music cleanse my insides…God I’m so tender.
I’m making heart preserves—using mason jars I’ve saved up over the years, the ones stocked up in the empty storage rooms in my head. I’ll put them there for safekeeping.
Off work.
Dinner: Vegetable Lo Mein. Shitty Beer.
The football game is on and Skippy is getting overly excited…
I visit Amanda at her place on Sharp Street…We take an extensive walk around the neighborhood in conjunction with an extensive conversation. Smoking a Bali Hai a customer offered to me earlier tonight. Pouring out my heart and my take on things—venting. She has an analytical mind like I do so speaking with her is easy and makes me feel comfortable. She has an outsider’s perspective on the soap opera that got heated up over the weekend.
Me: “I want to be there for her. I don’t want to be non-existent. That is the worst feeling to be forbidden to express yourself to somebody…”
…
Amanda: “I picture this really awesome world, like a small town all over where people are just so friendly with each other all the time. That’d be ridiculous and incredible.”
…
Me: “Happiness inspires sincerity.”
…
Me: “People are honest but when their pride’s at stake it’s very difficult to tell the truth.”
…
Me: “Now we’re not fooling you.”
Amanda: “You weren’t fooling me from the beginning!”
…
Then there are these parallels and coincidences that seem too cosmic.
…
“Sharp feelings on Sharp Street. Discussion with Amanda. [Hahaha]”
I leave feeling much better. Nothing’s resolved but now another person understands and she cares about the outcome…
Back home.
Eating a bowl of Cheerios with Brown Sugar.
<><><><><><>
Promise me that you'll cherish
This tarnished
Oh this tarnished offering
---Coco Rosie
Sleep 4 a.m.
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