I dreamt of her

Last night, or this early morning, I made a pretty sleepy, dreamy post that was short and for some reason, fairly cryptic when I go back to read it. But I think I can explain. Last night, I was contemplating why I wanted to go back into a relationship with Bri. The more I thought about it, the more I tried to reason why I wanted to recess back to before my birthday. I guess the reasons are companionship, love, a feeling of security, and the hugs. I've been pretty horny the past 9 weeks since I broke up with her, but that's only passing. I've lived 19 years unsexed, now that i'm twenty, I need it for some reason.

But I dreamed last night, lying restless in bed at 5am. I dreamed I was lying next to her, we're both under the covers, and she's sad. I wrap my arms around her, and she starts to smile, and giggle and be happy. She hasn't been happy around me since my birthday. Its hard to since I keep bringing up the same topic over and over again. I shouldn't, I know. But it was so weird, this dream, we weren't even doing anything, but just being silly, happy and giggling. I woke up, alone in bed except for my moosie flip flop.

Reasoning Behind Why

Its been established, I hate being single. I miss the feeling of having someone to hold and to nuzzle and kiss. What is it that I want? Why do I pine after her?

So what if I get her? What do I want? I dont know. I'm so sappy.

Sensory Registration

Mankind is with but five senses. Sight, smell, touch, taste and sound. No doubt, one cannot help but remember the joy involved with the flooding of memories coming back the moment that sense is triggered in the right way. In my life, I never noticed how prevalent that was until these past two months of the single life.

I was moping as usual, I stared on my shelf and picked up the little vaporizer bottle of Bath and Body works Pink Grapefruit. Unfortunate that they dont make it anymore, but I was afraid to spray it, for fear of wasting it all. I popped off the cap, took a little breather and it took me back. It brought back so many happy thoughts and memories. Helping Bri pack, nuzzling Moosie in my arms for the first time, coming home from work, exhausted and hopeless. The lobby smelled so familiar. It just hit me that moment and I couldn't place it. I opened my mail box to find a perfumed letter just for me! That is one my favorite moments in the past two years here at Cal.

I was enjoying my April 18th by taking in a flick dedicated to the 103rd anniversary of the 1906 earthquake. But after the banjo minstrel band left the stage, I sat, sunk into my seat moping. Again. But all of a sudden, the Castro theater was filled with the most extraordinary sound. The sound of the mighty Wurlitzer is a sound I could never forget. Especially played in an old jazzy way. The organ rose with a bald man at the console. The hall filled with sound and my head was abuzz with memories of ice skating in Paramount. I thought instantly of the Wurlitzer organ at that ice rink and memories of just trying to get around the rink just once. Warren as his name was played beautifully, his ability to control so many sounds at once as well as play with his feet was simply a gift. I sunk deep into the velvet chair, in a trance as it were, thinking of a simpler time. When I was ice skating, not looking at my feet, but into someone's eyes.

Used to

There are alot of things I used to do. Things I did that made my regular life, well, my regular life. Little things you'd never notice yourself doing when you were happy, say for instance, tying your shoes on one foot then the other, the exact same way over and over. But once there is that impact, that event that changes your life, changes the way you live, you notice everything you've lost.

Change happens both ways. For good and for bad, and some people can never let go of their habits but at some point change has got to give. Man and woman are not made from granite, we are not made from iron and we are not made from wood. If we were made from granite, we would be hard and stern. Changing only to the elements and to human force. If we were made of iron, we would be cast and be brittle, and the only change we would see is the corrosion from neglect. If we were wood, we would be flexible yet rigid, many yet easily destroyed and changing to any means possible. I think we are clay. Soft, malleable to any form, possible to make rigid permanently but still, with time to mold and work and play with. If you look at people around the world if they were clay, the only ones who have been fired in the kilns are those who are six feet under.

My head used to be filled with music. Operas, librettos, scores, orchestras, symphonies, songs, melodies, jazz bands. Nary was there a night I could fall asleep without difficulty as my own head sang me to sleep. Then what happened? Where has the music gone? I lay in bed, gaping at the ceiling in a fish sort of way, trying to breathe, thinking of all my bodily functions trying to shut down. No more jazz, no more Shostakovich, no more Gilbert & Sullivan, just silence. Plain as day silence. Even throughout my daily life, the music isn't there or isn't as strong as it used to be. I wonder where the pit has gone?

Mold a statue's arm of clay over another statue, then remove the other statue, the arm begins to sag under its own weight. It cannot support its own. Unless you fired it or made it rigid. But where is this rigidity? Where is this "backbone" so to speak? She tells me it comes from touching your bases. Finding that root element that can define all. That's all fine and dandy but how on earth do you stick a skeleton into a clay statue that's already made? It's impossible unless you start from scratch. As a student, there is no time. If I were an artist, I would have plenty time to do whatever I felt like. Quite.

But even now, I feel the pressure, I feel the problems bearing an ungodly weight upon me. The pains in my lame arm start to become apparent and I suffocate. Where is air? Where is feeling? Where is my skeleton, on which I can build my life on?

I dont know.