I dreamed about small talk. That's how starved I am for
human contact. I hate small talk. But I dreamed about boring women with brown
hair. I pretended to care as they talked about kids and being soccer moms.
Garret was in the dream, a shadowy figure that was not sitting near me.
In real life, I have not seen Garret since December. He went
to take care of his Dad, who has cancer and had surgery. I get that. I wanted
him to go see his Dad. But the distance is not helping our relationship, or
more accurately, lack thereof. Garret won't come back for another couple of
weeks, and then, he plans to stay for only three days and then go right back to
his Dad.
The real life story-line carried over into the dream,
obviously. Shadowy-Garret was not really there, even when he was there.
I wish I had friends.
I wish I knew how to be happy.
I wish I knew how to obtain what I want in life--
relationships with people who interest me, affection, the drive and motivation
to accomplish my goals.
Sigh.
I listened to Scroobius Pip for the first time in Jan 2013.
I love him. I'm obsessed with 5 songs and I listen to them over and over.
(Introdiction, The Struggle, Thou Shalt Always Kill, The Beat That My Heart
Skipped, and Broken Promise.) The lyrics are my new lexicon.
I wish I could find a person obsessed with the same things
as I. But as I can't make a friend at all, that wish seems doomed to remain a
fantasy.
My friends are all imaginary.
I have relationships with the peeled off layers of artists,
writers, singers. Not real and complete people, but a single layer of a single
version of a performance. A single contrived moment of a person. Sloughed bits
of dead skin.
I wrote a few poems, published them on Amazon kindle. They
are free if you have Amazon Prime...
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