I had a dream about a beautiful girl. I woke up wondering where I could find her, so that we could continue to have exquisite sex.
Noah left for the last day of the horse park job and mom went with auntie Doc-Doc to visit grandma. She said “have a good night.” Eternal night of 10am. I said “Say hi to grandma.”
I have been having maybe the same brand of dread-stomach that was my main grind around age 17. It has softened however, because I’m “an adult” now and don’t take it personally when things feel bad.
My mom takes on the weight of the collapse, she is the figurehead of responsibility for all of us. She hides the worst parts from us in her belly – this sweet transparent mass containing clearly visible pockets of worry.
I spend the day shirtless, languoring (a word I use on Sundays) in a house to myself. I get this feeling when I know I made the wrong choices, because they sit there, looking at me from within my poisoned head. It’s a feeling that everything I was holding has tipped over.
Then I let myself feel that everything is okay, that I can be sweet to myself, that I deserve my own love and forgiveness.