In which we sleep on floors, dreaming of shooting heroine or being crucified
It’s as if my stuff is melting, the way it’s been slowly oozing off of every surface and out of every container. I am sitting waist deep in a pool of messiness the likes of which I’ve never been responsible for before. I will almost certainly be moving again in a matter of weeks.
The other day I wrote this and almost posted it, but I don’t like bathroom-wall style blogging so I didn’t. It remains relevant enough to warrant inclusion in this unrelated longer post:
At work today I cleaned the women’s showers in the carriage house and wiped the piss-soaked tile around the bottoms of the toilets. Tomorrow I will do it again.
My goth story lately is that I’ve been repeatedly dreaming about shooting heroine or dying. The heroine dream is boring – I find heroine in a drawer in a house in my old neighborhood and I shoot it. I usually wake up laughing in disgust. The death dreams are much more intense. I cried in my sleep in Minneapolis and again on my floor the other night. In the most vivid, I was taken into a restaurant kitchen by several plain young men who I didn’t recognize and tied to a cross. A crowd was watching from outside of the kitchen’s open doors. My last words to one of the men were “But can you say you’ve lived a good life?” and then I was raised up and I couldn’t breathe. I suffocated and woke up in a new dream thinking “It never gets any easier,” fully aware that I had just died. The sun was huge and there was endless grass.
Two nights ago I froze to death in a flood, watching the floating corpses of two drowned geese. Their necks were fat and rubbery and I couldn’t swim away from them. I was asleep on the floor in my room, which is somehow hard and unforgiving in a way that carpeted floors usually aren’t.
I slept on the floor in Mike’s room last night and it was marvelously restful.
We had a bonfire at the oilcans. We had a barbecue. I went to a show and saw some bands. It now costs about $1.83 to drive to and from work.
I have been in a middling bad mood for about two weeks. It is mostly due to frustration related to projects and “a lack of results.” At work I keep listening to drug music and having bleach fueled dreams. At home, I do my best work and get the most done out on the roof.
Me and Suz are maybe going on a tour of swimming holes and then camping in Nova Scotia. I am visiting my house this weekend. It has been over one year since I had the best steak of my life.