  Wakin up this morning feeling pretty damned pathetic. Observe the scene: Ok, so its half past noon when I finally decide to rouse myself from my sweaty slumber. Not because Im motivated to get up; I just happened to look outside out of one eye and saw my dad in the yard putting in a sprinkler system. Its a bad-daughter thing to go on sleeping, even I am helpless (and uninvited) to lend a hand. How could I see him out side with one eye whilst still lying down? I spent the night on the floor of the living room where the night before me and Bryan camped out on the air mattress to watch The Hours a second time.
I passed out before the end. When he got up to leave, I didnt feel too strongly about hoisting myself up the stairs. And anyway, my ankle is a nightmare. No hoisting for a while, save for various beverage containers. Were in pain over here. In a whole new area of the bod.
Which I suppose is another additive to the melange of mood depressors. Ive been rather gloomy about things since the Aneil breakup (yeah, I think its appropriate to refer to it that way). My momentum has shifted. I allowed enough self doubt and guilt into my head to derail my forward progress. And then came this failed conference where no one would go with me. and then the added strain of a problematic ankle keeping me from exercising.
The needle scratches off the record. I blame Aneil. Its more fun to place blame than to pin it on random circumstance. The happiest Ive been in the last couple of days? Last night while I was asleep. You betcha.
Why do you think I spend so much time in bed? I had a fabulous dream, the plot of which wasnt nearly as wonderful as the overall sensation of being at peace. Safe and secure. A hotel in London. Five of my most loved girlfriends and me, engaging in some lovely consequence-free sexual expression, all of us together without a serious care in the world. And a shower scene of all things!
Man, Ive been watching too many bad movies. Who was the lucky mate in there with me? Cyndi Lauper. Yep, who knows where that came in. I even joked in my dream that shes finally in my ideal age group. What is she now?
50? Yep. Although I would have guessed 40 before I just looked it up (what /is/ my cut-off age these days? It used to be 40, but) We walked through London streets holding hands and catching the tube to different locales. Freudian penetration fantasy, yes. I see that.
We were smitten and drinking each other in. And when I woke up again, my heart sank. Fantasy gone. Empty reality replacing it. Ive nothing that resembles that safety and connectedness. Nada.
I thought of cutting myself, and I hadnt even gotten up to pee yet. I already woke myself up from another dream by screaming in my sleep. At my mom for berating my sexuality. Hostile? Yep. She told the whole neighbourhood of my sins; everyone was treating me like a serial child rapist.
I was yelling at her, condemning her to hell for hurting me. and while I was screaming, I had a moment or two when I knew I was dreaming, but I kept on yelling. Like I had this opportunity to say something that would slip away if I didnt engage it immediately, let it happen. Made some kind of subconscious deal with myself to allow the angry catharsis to take place. Yeah, Ive got some things going on. Bryan admitting again that he wants to kill himself last night.
It hurts because I know what he means. Its such a struggle to stay alive. When life lacks that necessary daily confirmation that anything is worth doing. I mean, I can remind myself of things. But it shouldnt take so much effort. You know? 
