Last night, I had a dream wherein I was wearing pretty much this exact outfit, and someone said: “You look like a Ramone, if the Ramones had been cute witchy punk grrls instead of weird-looking guys.” My dreams this past week have been so strange because they haven’t been strange; they’ve all been very vivid, but so incredibly normal, like, all stuff that could ostensibly happen in real life.
I’m sad and lonesome and restless. Winter was long and the spring has been cold, and I’m missing some kind of essential spark in my life, but I’m not quite sure what it is or how to get it (back). Maybe I’m just lonely for adventure. As an ex- of mine once wrote: & I’m waiting, but to tell you the truth I’m lonely for adventure. It hasn’t been away for very long but I get restless fast.
After I read Always & Forever, I read 215: Our Hearts Belong to Philadelphia, so now I miss my old friends and I miss Philly. Places claim you like people, and you (I) miss them like you miss people, except sometimes it is harder to miss a place than a person - because a person can come visit you, or call or text or email or send you a letter, but you can only be with a place when you go to it. What always gives me the worst pangs of missing is when a friend I miss contacts me from a place I miss, and says: “Hey, I’m in such-and-such place, thinking of you,” and then it’s like, great, now I miss the person, the place, and being with that person in that place. I swear, if I could just learn how to teleport, my life would be one million times better.
One thing that struck me about Always & Forever is that many of the stories were about losing friends, or about the difficulties of making friends or maintaining friendships. If I had written a piece for it, I would have written about my very bad friendship boundaries. Maybe I should write that piece anyway, a piece about how I have had so many friends who I ended up dating or fucking or fooling around with, or who admitted more-than-friends feelings to me or vice versa, or who I just flirted with too heavily to consider them ‘just friends.’ I mean, I have some friends who I’ve fooled around with or dated or what-have-you and had that either bring us closer or at least not fuck things up, but for the most part, my bad friendship boundaries have just created this whole list of people who should still be my best good friends but are instead ex-whatevers it is too awkward or painful to talk to anymore. If I wrote this piece, I would title it I’ve had too many lovers, and not enough friends.
Does anyone else feel weird guilt about their (sexual/romantic) fantasies, sometimes? I always feel strangely guilty when I fantasize about people who I know are married or in serious partnerships. I feel like a homewrecker or something. Which is ridiculous, because in my fantasies, they’re in an open relationship, or they’ve split up with their partner, or it’s like an alternate universe where they never had that partner at all. And also, it’s a fucking fantasy, and I shouldn’t feel guilty about it.
On an unrelated note, I once hit on someone by telling them they looked exactly like the Devil looked in a dream I had when I was 16. It was true, they did, but in any case - it worked.
I dunno. Today has been okay, I guess. I got some good novel-work done (and now I’m thinking that my next long writing project should be a novella based on my brief stint at Northwestern University, cos there are some crazy stories from that time frame), and I’m drinking a good beer. Still, I’m sad. Same as it ever was.