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"Get Big" by Okkervil River
Once we get to the end of this song,
then it wil begin again.
So you said,
in our bed.
I was watching light slip
through blinds to find your skin.
So take your medicine
and I won't ask where you've been.
Live your lost weekend.
I know you've wanted it.
Get big, little kid.
March 11, 2018 Sunday 7:53 PM
A little folk-child like me of course spent the night having many dreams. And these dreams were of a world engineered by Escher or something, because god, I was in caravans and land was falling away at the ends of cliffs and then I was in a building that was somewhere deep in the Earth's crust—why am I always buried in these dreams?—and it was abandoned, dead inside, but I went up those stairs down those stairs somewhere in some direction until I reached the fourth floor and a group of people who grabbed me into a colorful library and preached to their small community like people who're building humanity in a bunker. I am supposed to go on a mission, back up to the surface with them, but before I go I meet a guy—who is not Moby, but he does things that Moby did. He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around him but we never got to kiss because someone dragged me away. I got lost in the stairwell and a man appeared to me, saying he could not lead me away unless I bared my shoulders. And your ankles, he said. So I took off my socks and my button-up so I was in a cami, and he disappeared and I knew he'd reappear shortly, to tap on my skin and tell me where to go. But then I realized I forgot my heavy boots. So I struggled to put everything back on and rush back to the fourth floor, where I forgot I needed my shoes and instead sought out the kid who lifted me up and held my face against his. I don't think I found him again.
This is better than the dream I had a few days ago, where I was fighting a black woman with very dark very luminous skin and then that fight turned into sex and then I had the strongest orgasm I think I've ever had but when I opened my eyes the woman had turned into Caroline, or Liv, or both, and they were hurt and ashamed and confused. I was humiliated. At least half my sex dreams are heavily associated with shame, so this makes sense.
Yesterday was a rough day. I was close to tears for most of it, except in the very beginning when Moby first invited me over for a "talk" in which he said: "We can't be anything more than platonic."
And I said, "Okay. Is that the thing?" The thing you invited me over to say?
He said, "Yes, that's the thing."
He said something about the day before, me being a little too touchy—I was very drunk and I do not hide myself when I am drunk. He said,"I'm sorry."
And I said, "No, I'M sorry," and I was staring at the same trash can he was staring at last week. I smiled and said goodbye and left the room and left the building without looking back, without feeling bad at all, until I reached the stairwell and I cried and, simultaneously, felt extremely relieved. The rest of the day was me doing homework—tearing up—doing homework—eating—tearing up—doing homework—going to work—tearing up. I was tearful before this happened, though. I was tearful on Friday, and I was tearful days before that. This was just worse, because it was closer now and yes, it was likely because what he said, as much as I wish it didn't matter that much to me. I am actually pretty okay. Or I'm in denial. Either way, I feel fine right now. I woke up not-hurting, which was nice, because I was in consistent evil pain all day yesterday. I watched Rent with Marie and Nadiya, and that cheered me up, but I was still feeling brutalized when I got back to my room at 4 AM. Slept twelve hours and have not felt like crying.
I did e-mail Lancelot yesterday, because I was feeling very unstable. I did not want to die. I kept thinking about ways to die, and none of them seemed good, because I didn't want to die. I just wanted to stop hurting so acutely. I had been so raw, so fucking exposed, for a couple weeks and I was tired of it. Being so anxious, I could not see that it may've just been the peak of all that and I am coming down now. I don't actually know, even now, if that's the case or if I'm just in a quiet lull. Point is, in that moment I was quite frantic and e-mailed him. He offered to come into Providence today for a meeting, but I didn't want to inconvenience him more than I had so I said no. He said he thinks we should consider two appointments until some feelings subside. That's how he said it. "Some feelings." I am not sure what that means. I know exactly what that means. I wish there was a more specific way to put it.
My head hurts a little and I am overly warm but I am okay. I never want to settle down—I want these emotions to get worse, worse, worse, worse, worse. Or better, all the way better. But experience says I will get neither extreme. Just another lull. I don't even remember the last time I felt this bad. I can't sleep. I can't sleep. I sleep too much. It's okay. I'm okay.
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