It's 11:57PM and I desperately need to be asleep because I have to be up at 7AM to make it to my Saturday class on time. I've been absent twice due to alarm clock mishaps (my alarm tone was John Mayer's 'Come Back To Bed') and I can no longer afford any more absences.
I had a dream a few nights ago which catered to the part of me that needs to be wherever she isn't. In my gloriously short-lived dream, I resided in the City of Lights: Paris. It was so irritatingly specific, that dream, to the point where I could feel the crisp notes of Euros I was to pay the grocer for my ample purchases, including a nice thick slab of a soft cheese of some sort. I remember the warm weight of my brown paper bags, my fingertips tracing the barely perceptible outlines of jars of jams and other items that would comprise delightful canapés that I would later on, prepare in my predominantly wooden loft. I was changing sweaters in muted shades of grey (a color I love wearing but now avoid due to the heat in my tropical home which causes some unflattering sweat stains, especially in the chest area, attracting attention to my bosom), remembering the feel of cashmere sliding down my arm, its delicate tapestry getting caught in my coarse hangnails.
Suffice to say, I woke up and stared at my bedroom door for a good minute, silently cursing myself for permitting such a fanciful thought to enter my mind. What makes it so frustrating, you might ask. You see, the chances of that happening are slim to none. At least, those are my chances in the present moment, which makes me despise the time-space frame I am currently a prisoner of with a greater intensity. I need to live in this present to allow room for my various future endeavors. A convenient fallback, if you will. The practicalities are so multitudinous and even more ubiquitous that it makes me want to scream. And scream I do, even if only on the inside. My silent screams of "I don't want to be here right now," and "WHY IS THIS MY LIFE?!?" are all I am allowed in this life I have been made (condemned is a harsh word) to live begrudgingly, day in and day out. It's not as if my life has deprived me of any flights of fancy or fun, to put it succinctly, but it's just that my existence has worn itself so thin that it can barely keep the easiest parts of me to please alive. I live without a purpose, if only to survive waking up and making it through the day to go to bed and do it all over again. Who would want to feel that way? Maybe this time, I need 2 hugs and more cookies. Adieu pour le moment, mes amours. ♥
I had a dream a few nights ago which catered to the part of me that needs to be wherever she isn't. In my gloriously short-lived dream, I resided in the City of Lights: Paris. It was so irritatingly specific, that dream, to the point where I could feel the crisp notes of Euros I was to pay the grocer for my ample purchases, including a nice thick slab of a soft cheese of some sort. I remember the warm weight of my brown paper bags, my fingertips tracing the barely perceptible outlines of jars of jams and other items that would comprise delightful canapés that I would later on, prepare in my predominantly wooden loft. I was changing sweaters in muted shades of grey (a color I love wearing but now avoid due to the heat in my tropical home which causes some unflattering sweat stains, especially in the chest area, attracting attention to my bosom), remembering the feel of cashmere sliding down my arm, its delicate tapestry getting caught in my coarse hangnails.
Suffice to say, I woke up and stared at my bedroom door for a good minute, silently cursing myself for permitting such a fanciful thought to enter my mind. What makes it so frustrating, you might ask. You see, the chances of that happening are slim to none. At least, those are my chances in the present moment, which makes me despise the time-space frame I am currently a prisoner of with a greater intensity. I need to live in this present to allow room for my various future endeavors. A convenient fallback, if you will. The practicalities are so multitudinous and even more ubiquitous that it makes me want to scream. And scream I do, even if only on the inside. My silent screams of "I don't want to be here right now," and "WHY IS THIS MY LIFE?!?" are all I am allowed in this life I have been made (condemned is a harsh word) to live begrudgingly, day in and day out. It's not as if my life has deprived me of any flights of fancy or fun, to put it succinctly, but it's just that my existence has worn itself so thin that it can barely keep the easiest parts of me to please alive. I live without a purpose, if only to survive waking up and making it through the day to go to bed and do it all over again. Who would want to feel that way? Maybe this time, I need 2 hugs and more cookies. Adieu pour le moment, mes amours. ♥
