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Foul mood foul mouth
Mar. 28th, 2008 09:32 amAwoken to a beastly mood. Not concerning anything in particular... I think I'm just fatigued, I have not been productive this week and I needed to have been... but two and a half days out of four I was sick in just that way that makes me unable to hold onto a train of thought for more than a minute.
Nights plagued with invisible nightmares, that I cannot remember at all come daytime to excise from my subconscious. Fear of returning to sleep hovering over me in the evenings like a miasma. Tonight was no different, except in addition I dreamed of her... it's been a long time. I used to conjure her up in my dreams often; normally she was cruel, the way I remember her, the way I last saw her face. I would cry and cry and cry until it was agonizing to do so but I couldn't stop. This time, though, she told me bits and pieces of her story... she seemed so sad and wind-scattered, exhausted and fragile, hesitant, almost afraid of me. I don't know what it means, if it means anything. Is this the process of my own mind toward closure? Is that why I wrote her a letter yesterday, moreso than reconciliation? I don't even know if I have the right kind of contact information in order for her to get it... I hope she did, though. I really, really do.
I feel like my body is a pit of sand that I, my consciousness, is standing in. I dig with my hands, constantly shoveling* it out in two-palmed scoops in an attempt to get down to things that are meaningful and useful. I know they're there, but the sand keeps on sliding back in and I can't get at them, the tools of my trade, my abilities to progress.
It is to be mentioned, however, at at the asterisk a bright flash of dream-memory hit me... I was on a beach where there were a lot of people (later, on some kind of... dock out in the middle of the water). I'd smoothed out a little space in the sand where it was just slightly damp, far enough away from the surf that there was not water washing close to me, but I think the tide had been higher recently. I was drawing symbols there... then something started happening that tugged me away, but I remember fumbling with my camera, trying to take a picture of two symbols that I'd drawn there (I think I'd drawn them). I remember them very vaguely... I've jotted them down but they look incomplete. >.<
Here's the plan: shower, dress (for real, for going out, for self-presentation for people who will hire me) call the city about the fucking couch that is still sitting on the fucking curb even though I've scheduled the fucking pickup fucking twice (see, I told you so), brew up a pot of coffee, eat a bowl of cereal, pack Noodle and other sundries, take to the streets. So help me, I will get things done today. I will also write. I need very much to feel as though something has come of this week. Also, maybe, conceive a sewing project for the weekend. I'm pretty stocked with notions to abate my lack of expendable funds right now... I think something fresh and cunning is in order (just in general).
Nights plagued with invisible nightmares, that I cannot remember at all come daytime to excise from my subconscious. Fear of returning to sleep hovering over me in the evenings like a miasma. Tonight was no different, except in addition I dreamed of her... it's been a long time. I used to conjure her up in my dreams often; normally she was cruel, the way I remember her, the way I last saw her face. I would cry and cry and cry until it was agonizing to do so but I couldn't stop. This time, though, she told me bits and pieces of her story... she seemed so sad and wind-scattered, exhausted and fragile, hesitant, almost afraid of me. I don't know what it means, if it means anything. Is this the process of my own mind toward closure? Is that why I wrote her a letter yesterday, moreso than reconciliation? I don't even know if I have the right kind of contact information in order for her to get it... I hope she did, though. I really, really do.
I feel like my body is a pit of sand that I, my consciousness, is standing in. I dig with my hands, constantly shoveling* it out in two-palmed scoops in an attempt to get down to things that are meaningful and useful. I know they're there, but the sand keeps on sliding back in and I can't get at them, the tools of my trade, my abilities to progress.
It is to be mentioned, however, at at the asterisk a bright flash of dream-memory hit me... I was on a beach where there were a lot of people (later, on some kind of... dock out in the middle of the water). I'd smoothed out a little space in the sand where it was just slightly damp, far enough away from the surf that there was not water washing close to me, but I think the tide had been higher recently. I was drawing symbols there... then something started happening that tugged me away, but I remember fumbling with my camera, trying to take a picture of two symbols that I'd drawn there (I think I'd drawn them). I remember them very vaguely... I've jotted them down but they look incomplete. >.<
Here's the plan: shower, dress (for real, for going out, for self-presentation for people who will hire me) call the city about the fucking couch that is still sitting on the fucking curb even though I've scheduled the fucking pickup fucking twice (see, I told you so), brew up a pot of coffee, eat a bowl of cereal, pack Noodle and other sundries, take to the streets. So help me, I will get things done today. I will also write. I need very much to feel as though something has come of this week. Also, maybe, conceive a sewing project for the weekend. I'm pretty stocked with notions to abate my lack of expendable funds right now... I think something fresh and cunning is in order (just in general).
