mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - Strange moods, strange weeks. I am chalking the last two weeks up to an extended bout of PMS. Yes. That. Tired all the time, exhausted. Something feels... wrong? Inside me, inside who I am? Sometimes I let crazy thoughts get in. I have had unusual dreams the past handful of days, nights, whatever, this chunk of time that has just passed was filled with them. One visited more than once-- I think I had the same dream two, three times, maybe even four, or maybe it was just once and got scrambled in my sleepy brain so I thought, "Oh! I remember you!" I dreamed of a room filled with rolls of wallpaper and dusty treasures, a room filled with silver and painted porcelain dolls and bolts of white linen, a fading but not quite extinguished light, a fucking shrine to a little dead girl. And what I remember most about this dream, or these dreams, was this feeling of loss, this feeling that something really important happened or was supposed to happen in that lonely space and it was ruined somehow and so this beautiful room was walled off and left vacant forever afterward. What the hell does THAT mean? I don't know. I am too caught up in chasing down the things that I imagine ordinary people possess. If I have this, I will be as happy as you look on the outside. If I am this, I will be as fulfilled as you are pretending to be. This is not to say that I am not happy, but I keep wanting more, a happier happy, a fucking blinding bliss, this state of being that does not exist without crushingly low lows. Where do I buy THAT? Does it come used? Can I just borrow yours? Less cynical news: I am in love. More cynical news: It scares me. Terrifies me. It is such a cliche to say, oh, I've been HURT. It is, I know, and I am still like a kicked puppy, flinching at every hand that reaches out to touch me. I find myself doubting every word that he says, the way he looks at me, the way he tells me he loves me, too, even though I have no reason to doubt. Not all of the time, but sometimes. The sometimeses suck. I keep wondering, what's YOUR angle? What are YOU going to do? When are YOU going to spit me out? I am afraid of letting myself be absorbed, even into something that feels soft and safe and pulsing with potentially forever. But the way he looks so happy to see me, that has to be real. And it melts my ice, little by little, day by day. I have said it before but this feels really really real. I am trying hard not to wreck it. 5:56 p.m. - 2010-08-31 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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