Thursday, August 25, 2005

I rarely have dreams when I sleep through the night. It's only on the days that I let myself sleep in past 8 AM, the days when I awake and drift back to sleep that the synapses try to play tricks on me. Two night ago I was sleeping with both my roommates. Did I mention the theme for this fall is Three's Company? I'm shacked up in a cozy little bungalow with two beautiful ladies. And there I was at 9:37 a.m. dreaming about giving to them both at the same time.

Then this morning it was the old girlfriend. It was the G2K. The one I wrote you fairy tales about. The kind that all the smart kids in the good classes know won't last forever. She was there somewhere in my frontal lobes with her ex/current boyfriend (I am the slash). They were playing raquetball. Smiling and laughing and flirting and having more fun than I've had in weeks. And I was looking at them from the walkway above the court. My dream self felt sick to his stomach. To see that smile on her face. The one that should be reserved for me. That's my smile. It's the one I created and now he's stolen it.

I woke up feeling just as sick as I had in the dream. Roommates stretched out in the backyard in bikinis under the sun no more than 15 feet outside my window. Clock showing 10 a.m. Their bikini bottoms showing me more than I should see. The computer showing me 10 new e-mails. The ipod showing low battery. The stomach showing to many beers. The feet showing why I need a lamisil prescription. Facebook showing that I haven't met anyone new since I've returned.

And all of it crescendoed at 3:30 in the afternoon. Half and hour into my second sitting at the back of the classroom where some dumb blonde is telling me how to bullshit the world in a class called Public Relations. I didn't need to be there. I didn't want to be there. Nothing for me to learn. I want to create something new. Not process someone else's shit. And if you want to know why a white boy from the suburbs who listens to sissy rock , who lives with two girls in that little yellow shack, who works in the kitchen of a sorority, who has been known to wear the occasional polo shirt deseves anyting more than a nod in passing you should have been there to see my face when I stood up, winked at the teacher when she asked if there was something wrong and sauntered all the way across the room to the door in the opposite corner. And I swear if anyone asks I did it because my blog told me to.


Blogger Mo said...

dude, i think your blog is nuts.

5:06 PM  

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