|
- These days I'm not up for much. I'm in a cocoon and that's okay with me. I think, maybe I should do something. Then I think, nah, I'll just sit here. I can just sit here, it's okay. It is. Sleeping 11 hours a day isn't good but damn it's good when you haven't been able to sleep much for the last three and a half years. Sleeping 11 hours a day makes you groggy, though, and I intend to stop doing it at some point. Today I woke up early. I'd had a dream that I'd been hit by a car and died, technically, but I went to work for two days afterwards. I was worried that I wouldn't get paid for those two days, that they'd check my date of death and compare it to my last day at work and wouldn't pay me. I had a boy to meet. I was running around with my messenger bag and journal. I made sense to myself, I'd been killed but I wasn't dead. Then I began to wonder if maybe I really was dead, because, I was carrying my journal around but had I written anything in it? I'd met up with this boy but what had we done? I'd gone to work but had anyone noticed me? Was I a ghost? I returned to the scene of the accident. There were witnesses that had seen my body go flying, they'd seen the gruesome aftermath. No one should have to see that, I thought. Ick. The car that killed me had been speeding. I'd flown through the air. I'd felt the initial impact, like a little push, but that's all. I'd been killed on impact, I was dead before I hit the ground. I realized I was dead and thought, oh crap, they're going to find my notebooks. The other night I had a dream that I went back to work without my boss's permission. There were these sleek black elevators, it was very space-age. I don't know why they treated you so poorly, Kirsten said to me. Some of the partners don't agree with it either, she said, so they voted to give you a permanent email address. Which apparently was their way of saying it was okay for me to be working there. In non-dream things: today perhaps I will go horseback riding, or hiking. Tonight perhaps I will go out socializing. Tomorrow night perhaps I will go to a movie with my dad. And maybe I will give my exbestfriend a call. I ought to.
|