it's 11:44 pm, on January 18, 2005 - glass freight elevator.
~
I slept for four hours this evening. stupid. oh well, it gives me a while to post here instead of sleep.
There's this thing going around livejournal, that says "describe me in one word". And I really hate those - I feel like someone is going to be offended if I don't answer, but I can't *ever* think of something to say. however, I did look through some other people's answers, and I realized - it said little to nothing about the person in question (one word? come on), however, it said everything about the person answering in the first place.
It's funny. you see what people said about Rossi - Matt said she was a survivor, thus what he sees about her is what she's been through. Greg says she's searching - he sees what she's looking for. Doqz says she's young - he sees what she hasn't done yet. weird.
I didn't ask people this one, because I'm pretty sure I'd get 5 'cute's and a couple of random words, and it wouldn't say anything about me. and it's not that I don't want to know what people think of me, it's just - in most cases, I think I already know.
It's possible I will never be comfortable with my place in the world or myself, but I think part of that is that I do have the Piscean ability to properly see what exactly I am, to people and to myself. I don't believe in astrology at all, but that particular ability? I can do that fairly well.
Even in a period of blackness, I can see what other people are considering of me, and I know what it is. it's odd, having sensations and yet also standing apart from them, able to examine thoughts and feelings from the outside and yet having no way to stop them. Even that one summer, I knew - not suspected but knew - that most people I knew thought I was cracking up. it was because it was true. those were irrational feelings and yet they did not go away.
I don't know whether I'm glad I already know what people think of me or not - it's not like it's inflated. I know who thinks of me and how often, who doesn't, who misses me. the last real blank slate was Bryant and I know that now, that's no longer a place of doubt. it's not a comfort all the time. it is what it is.
I don't know what I'm getting at. it's midnight on tuesday and I have class tomorrow until nine thirty at night. It's such a long day. lately the days have been nothing but get up, go to work, come home, play solitaire, go to sleep. we never get enough time.
--
because I haven't described any fucked up dreams lately, here's a couple:
- I'm walking from the mall to a different mall because my cousin needs a lift home. I don't have any shoes on, so when I get to the mall I *have* to buy some cheap shoes. I have to get some. I realize I can't pick my cousin up even if I've gone to all this trouble, and start to cry desperately. I think this is where I wake up.
we all know what losing our shoes means in a dream, and if not, pray you never have to look it up. it's basically a portent that you hate everything.
-there's some kind of minor war going on between people on the upper floor and people in the basement. a bunch of people from work are there, and we're on opposing teams. i'm upstairs, and I figure out how to take the freight elevator (which is right by the other one) downstairs to try and - what, exactly? I'm not sure. the elevators are glass, so to avoid being seen as something bad, we lie on the floor. we get downstairs, and a bunch of us realize there's a double agent. sarah and I are on opposing teams and yet there's no animosity - all of it is saved for this guy. I duck around some glass walls downstairs and suddenly I'm in basement territory. I get back upstairs and tell them that they can get on the elevator just the same I can.
I do not know what elevators mean, but let's not find out.
Robbie Williams is singing "want you back" a la Rancid. tag, you're it.
~
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