Dream Journal

Boat, Bus, (Another Bus), and a Pretty Good Date

On a boat, minding my own business reading. Three lavatory cabins sit on the left of the boat, bobbing widely up and down in the spray. I’m friendly with the boatman, and we take a 15 minute break on a shoreline so I can get up and stretch my legs, and take a pee break outside those challenging lavatories. I watch as a water pressure rocket shoots into the sky.

Asking a girl I know out on a date. (As it happens, this girl will later become my crush.) We’re at a college, riding around on student buses, among huge institutional buildings with wide lawns laid out on a grid. I point out to her the many little groups of animal sculptures placed on balconies of an incomplete building, supposedly a tradition in Arabia and the Emirates. One group of wolves, though, is alive, and we watch enthralled as they stalk across the empty road outside our bus windows.

We go somewhere inside a big university building, a place with high-ceilinged two-story elevators. A maintenance man actually points out how they’ve recently made them nicer. There’s somewhere I think would be nice to take her for a date, but when we get there it’s a student mental health clinic (maybe we mis-navigated, maybe they moved the location). I figure this out looking through forms over the light of a desk lamp, politely decline their services, and take her somewhere nicer.

We find a plain rectangular room with a bed. I ask her directly if she’d like to have sex. Her reaction is everything: she ponders with her finger pressed to her lips, eyes cast upwards, gently scratching her now bald head. It’s a subtly amusing overacted display of thoughtfulness, and I take the time to evaluate her unique beauty. Finally she turns to me and pronounces a simple, conclusive “yes”. I smile, but realizing we haven’t actually had any regular fun yet I change tack. We snuggle up back-to-front and proceed through a card I have, a written series of jokes and responses, and she quickly picks up on it. We start to form a bond.

Again I’m a young kid, reading on a bus this time. Keep my tiny fuzzy rat Pierre under my fuzzy sweater, with the waist tucked in. My reading is interrupted by a bus guard (seem like a lot of rules on this bus) who scans me with handheld detector. But I feel uncharacteristically fine about it, and don’t worry about Pierre. My dad sits in the seat next to me. While I’m reading, the left lens of my glasses comes loose and blows out the window. I quickly try to remember the street, 45th I think, so we can go back and get it. However, the next street is 11th and the street after that is labelled 11:11.

I attempt to improvise, putting a grid of various colored glitter-water into a cat-eye-shaped lens and frame. Remarkably, the lens is the correct size, yet has a crunchy ice texture that makes it useless for reading through — but fascinating to look at. I study it intently and wonder what I could use it for, my reading forgotten.

Dream Journal

Moving Scooter, Unseen

Sitting on my scooter around the corner from home. I’ve been awake most of the night, in and out, and realize now it’s Thursday morning and time to move it for street-sweeping. I start it up and carefully putter it down the wrong side of the street, mostly pushing it — yet I don’t have my glasses on and realize it’d be safer to not even have the engine running.

Both about the odd calculations about safety I come to, and the necessary reminder to move my bike. Wasn’t even Thursday, though, so just goes to show I didn’t know what day it was.


Several Posts in One

I got new glasses today. They are blue, with tiny stars on the arms. I’m don’t quite like them as much as I expected to, but part of that is the new even stronger prescription. The world feels just that much further away (but -9 will do that to anybody). My right eye is worse than my left and so the recurring perception is that my glasses are uneven, and so I’ll start to adjust them before realizing “oops, these were freshly fitted just earlier today.” But, well, they are blue.

Also found out today Consumating will be going offline for good in about a month. This is sad for a number of reasons. I’ve met a lot of people through Consumating, good friends. There’s also a lot of people I like that I just… never really hung out with. But could have! Some who live across the country, who I might have someday met, who I probably never will. The community (and there is a community, in this instance) is being broken up. I’ve been archiving some of my old stuff that I wrote, although now that I’ve read Waxy’s writeup on CNET’s Consu-killing decision I realize I didn’t have to. I gave lots of tags, thumbed up every question for a couple people, and wrote some nice notes. It’s not that I think that’s important, it’s just that I’m sad I didn’t take as much out of it as I could’ve. Life is short.

Speaking of which, I still don’t have a job. Lynae talked to me a good long while this morning about why she was worried. See, I said that I was going to wait a week before I started seriously looking for a job. And, well, I did… but in the meantime, unfortunately, Lynae’s mom died. I’ve kind of put that on the back burner ever since. I’m thinking that tomorrow I’ll start. But, frankly, I don’t like the prospects. Not my prospects, mind you, but the prospect of working again, and all the BS that comes with getting a job… the resumé, the interviews, training, paperwork, once again acclimatizing to all the little ways you give up on your own dreams because of how much time you give to someone else, just for a little cash. It just seems so inhumane, somehow. I don’t want a job, I want a *good* job. Good for me—for my own broad intellectual and artistic interests, not just in the interest of money. But then again, if society were about promoting the self-actualization of individuals we wouldn’t need MONEY, would we? Yuk yuk yuk yuk.

I could’ve started today earlier, but stayed up too late the night before. And here I am again, so it seems. Except that tomorrow there is no mushroom hunt in Marin county, free guided tours and as many mushrooms as one can paper-bag. That was this morning. I’m hoping that maybe sometime soon me and the little lady can go out a-wandering in search of these fungal buds. Ever since I started reading Jeff VanderMeer books, man, fungus has just been that much more magical.

I don’t know why I felt the need to dump these four disparate magisteria into one post. My day had many different concerns, many facets. It’s done now.