it's 10:15 pm, on January 26, 2002 - definitely maudlin.
~
I dreamed about kissing last night. It's not the first time it's happened. One time I dreamed about kissing Nate Dayspring.
It is the first time I've dreamed about it while mourning, however. And, as Doqz said, I had "a spiritual grief-sex experience." It's true. I did. Mel says I have to work through my Subconscious Russian Issues.
I say, yes Mel.
I also say, quit dropping tonnes of subconscious bullshit on my head, okay brain? I don't need to wonder at six in the morning what pterodactyls have to do with kissing. I don't have to wake up with the image of an ugly hotel bedspread burned in my mind while I'm like, sobbing on some poor guy's shoulder. I don't have to know what it's like to grieve so totally that comfort turns into sensuality, you know? I've never had to grieve before. Why stick me in a museum to freak little kids out with how numb and weird I act? Brain, it's not right.
So, but, aside from the Subconscious Russian Issues (which, if I dream something freaky again tonight, are going to become a Problem) and the pseudo-comfort roiling around in my head, things are looking up. It's the weekend. I want some comfort. I don't need any comfort; I'm not grieving like Lorna would be grieving.
Almost said, "and here comes another avalanche of bullshit" to Doqz just now. Quoting Marla? Means time to pare down the discussion.
Not only did I dream about pterodactyls and curling up against someone because I was grieving, but also, now I have "I don't like mondays" in my head, and a headache, too.
I am a freaky, freaky person. I apologize in advance.
Maybe my subconscious is trying to come up with enough life for how many journals I have.
~*~
Other news; started writing shifts again. It's not as bad as I thought, thanks to some timely spam to Peek.
Am getting maudlin, here. Time to drink, except, have nothing to drink that is upstairs. There is a liquor store thirty feet from my house, now, along with a grocery store and post office. Could search for small Bailey's bottle. Could walk thirty feet and buy liquor, if I had more than just boxers on.
Maudlin should have something darker than liquer.
"he can't see no reasons cause there are no reasons, what reasons do you need to die, die, die"
Someone I know, last night in my unconscious stupor, shot themselves. It may have been money. That might just be me transferring. I can't tell.
~*~
Am even more maudlin, now that D's gone offline and I'm sitting here with a bottle on my own.
What am I maudlin for? Of all the things I miss about people I know, most of them are that raw emotion, fear as much as joy. I'm maudlin for people who's words I know better than I know them. I'm maudlin for a people I may have over-estimated concern from.
Maudlin means, according to the online dictionary: excessively or tearfully sentimental. Apparently, it's an alteration from Mary Magdelene, who was often depicted as a tearful penitent. It is also a herb. It also means easily moved to tears, insincerely emotional, or given to drunkenness.
I don't like Mondays.
Feeling a little dizzy, the later it gets. I had a dream about grief so raw. I had a dream about comfort so raw. I don't think it's the first time I've dreamed about kissing said comfort, but I don't know how the other one played out.
"I live a bedeviled man, disposed, like any other, to cherish my human affinities."
Pablo Neruda, 217. It's practically the only poem I've read in the whole book; it was worth what I paid for it.
Feeling more than a little dull, and numb, right now, as well as maudlin.
They say "affinities" means a natural attraction, liking, or feeling of kinship. I have those, yep. I have them. I know I do. I can feel them, sometimes, even if it's only when I first wake up.
~
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what would sith be nostalgic about anyway - November 24, 2015
moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
- - July 19, 2015
- - July 01, 2015
bruise - June 29, 2015
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