Betta be street if he lookin' at me. I need a soldier

Clogged

I’ve been off the blog a few days and I’m itching. Funny how quickly it’s become part of my routine, how many thoughts spin in the form of ‘need to write this down’ I’m fascinated to learn that people I don’t know have actually read this. who are you? how does that work? It’s a world I’m discovering a few years after the explosion. I love it like reality tv. Only more, because here I feel anonymous, like I’m playing instead of watching in awed horror

Obsessive blogging

The blog that I read every morning before I do ANYTHING else has been blank since Monday. Where are you? what’s going on? Amazing how quickly someone I don’t even know has become part of my rituals, someone I miss without knowing.

Dreams

Lucio used to wake up from vivid violent dreams. If I caught him when he first woke, he’d retell stories of running from persecutors, sticking them with knives, jumping into ‘getaway cars’ and hiding in alleys, sweating; killing cops and hookers. I chalked it up to time spent playing twisted video games where dead bodies were chopped up in garbage grinders and high school girls were killed in locker rooms after basketball practice.

I have friends who wake up from textbook dreams: “I dreamt I was in a one-person kayak on the ocean, fighting giant waves, while a larger kayak, paddled by a team of three, passed me by with ease.” An easy read, full of perfect and beautiful symbols.

Friends who wake up fresh from dramatic chase scenes and heavy love triangles.

Two nights in a row, I’ve woken up (and not gone back to sleep) from a dream that my laptop shut down. What the hell does that say? That it’s time to step outside the world of analyzing phones, administering self-massages to my shoulders from tensely sitting at my computer until it’s too late to go to the gym, reviewing power point slides to make sure I haven’t made a mistake

Saturday sunday

The weekend is approaching and I’m laying plans, largely basing them around appointments for cable installation, a much-needed haircut (bangs or no bangs??) and a birthday party I’ve been invited to as an afterthought. Realizing I miss the days of a weekend that’s built around the absence of plans. A weekend that signals the end of a week like this one. Where waking up for a kickboxing class, a day of he and I running aimless errands, crashing on the couch and going out to dinner is unplanned but just right. A joint venture that isn’t worth retelling but still counts.

Settling and resettling. Constant shifting, highs and lows. it’s something, really, how every day brings at least three ranges of funks and soars. How sometimes it’s a thrill to wake up without knowing where I’ll shower for the day (at home? At the gym? At the office?) and sometimes that decision is paralyzing and worthy of tears.

Dating

The next thing to analyze: match.com. still gathering thoughts. I’ve been encouraged to think about it. I did some preliminary research, wondering how close to ready I am. NOT. I gotta say I don’t think it’s going to work. Profiles full of grammar errors and photos featuring teddy bears, muscle shirts; promises of “walks on the beach,” “cuddling on the couch,” and “moments of comfortable silence,” shit. I read that with a cynical churning stomach. Bring me someone with something harder to read, more spark to flame, something I can’t see for myself at the movies.