This is it.
I've been insanely busy with company. I don't have anything to talk about with anybody it seems, but my internal dialogue is unstoppable. Sleep is bothered - no, plagued. Last night's dream: I'm creeping through a scary dark corridor. Things are dirty (of course), and dingy, and it smells awful, like shit and rotting. Have I ever smelled ANYTHING in my dreams? Can I even smell in my dreams? Or is my mind just saying that's what it smells like, as though my subconcious projector is a movie director barking orders at me, the actor? Anyhow, an arm pulls me into a shadow and it's Matt. He holds my hand, tells me that he can get us out of here. I follow him of course and we pass through these long, narrow rooms somewhere leaking and underground. There are bunk beds against the wall, concentration camp stylee and there are all sorts of dead people in various stages of decomposition. The one corpse I get a really good look at has been garrotted, recently. Matt and I creep into a room with a big old farmhouse table and then I woke up. The most disturbing thing: how come he's always saving me or leading me in my dreams, but in real life all we do is get in trouble together? It's fun and I love him, but I am missing what my subconcious is saying. Any ideas?
That was probably too much to hold anyone's attention. I know I've been a dick lately and avoidant. I don't know what to say except that I'm moody and better to not be around at the moment. I'm sorry that that's the way I'm dealing with it, but I can't bring myself to subject someone I barely know to this level of insanity.
In other news, my sg account ends 3 september, which is creeping up. I didn't just disappear. And I can always be found at:
everywordjones@gmail.com
Happy Trails.
I've been insanely busy with company. I don't have anything to talk about with anybody it seems, but my internal dialogue is unstoppable. Sleep is bothered - no, plagued. Last night's dream: I'm creeping through a scary dark corridor. Things are dirty (of course), and dingy, and it smells awful, like shit and rotting. Have I ever smelled ANYTHING in my dreams? Can I even smell in my dreams? Or is my mind just saying that's what it smells like, as though my subconcious projector is a movie director barking orders at me, the actor? Anyhow, an arm pulls me into a shadow and it's Matt. He holds my hand, tells me that he can get us out of here. I follow him of course and we pass through these long, narrow rooms somewhere leaking and underground. There are bunk beds against the wall, concentration camp stylee and there are all sorts of dead people in various stages of decomposition. The one corpse I get a really good look at has been garrotted, recently. Matt and I creep into a room with a big old farmhouse table and then I woke up. The most disturbing thing: how come he's always saving me or leading me in my dreams, but in real life all we do is get in trouble together? It's fun and I love him, but I am missing what my subconcious is saying. Any ideas?
That was probably too much to hold anyone's attention. I know I've been a dick lately and avoidant. I don't know what to say except that I'm moody and better to not be around at the moment. I'm sorry that that's the way I'm dealing with it, but I can't bring myself to subject someone I barely know to this level of insanity.
In other news, my sg account ends 3 september, which is creeping up. I didn't just disappear. And I can always be found at:
everywordjones@gmail.com
Happy Trails.