LustingforNightmares

tumbleweed
Ad 2:
Want some cocktail tips? Try some drinks recipes over here
2019-11-07 17:00:26 (UTC)

dreams

"Slipping Husband" by The National


November 7, 2019 Thursday 4:01 PM

Listen, it's been weird. I feel a bit—encased in my body. Not trapped, necessarily, except when I think about it that's exactly the truth, is that I'm stuck in here, but I'm also... ONLY here; can you be trapped if the potentiality for elsewhere does not exist?? If you can't be unhappy without some knowledge of a better place—likewise... I don't think there is another place for me anywhere. I am "here" in every sense. Physically, built into the frame, yes—but also as far as thought patterns go, where else could I be? There is no other option...

So I'm... encased?

I don't know, there is sometimes this feeling I get, that everything is happening right now, and I have a lot of anxiety about it but at once I'm just curious. It's not all the time. I used to think I was imagining it, some filter put on my memory of a period of time. It's hard to describe, so I'll start with characteristics:
Which is, unfamiliarity with time and day.
Yesterday, I had the strange belief that there were 4 hours of time between noon and 3 PM. I am not sure why, but I believed it up until about 2 PM, when I realized an hour was an hour and not two, lmao. So I was in a rush and it left my very anxious by the time I got to my literature class.
Five hours passing much more quickly than usual, last night I was in bed awake from 7 PM to midnight, tired, but not really, I don't even know what I did except putter around, slowly undressing and preparing to sleep, I took in information but it doesn't seem possible that such a small amount of content should have stretched over such a long period...

But at once Russian class, today, lasted maybe an hour and a half (a 50 min class normally), and my 1.5 hour Russian Novel seminar was... it's hard to quantify, but the first 45 minutes lasted a long, long time, much longer than they normally do. I kept drifting in and out of consciousness, in my own way. This whole week has felt like an extension of my dreams, in a certain way—where the beliefs and feelings and passivity from my nights kind of leak into the way I carry myself in the day time. I feel like I'm not even there; or if I try hard enough, I could be not there. Which is why it can be a bit irritating—of some dissonance—when someone makes you BE there. But not too irritating, it's really fine. I don't feel that far away, I'm not alienated from interaction, I'm just generally confused by things and the passage of time relative to myself.

The only interesting thing to occur in Russian Novel was towards the end of class. I spent most of the period paying attention and then getting vacuumed into my mind, where I was thinking about Melvin (like a heathen); mostly just about his collarbone and chest. I was wondering about his nipples, kissing them, if he liked that kind of thing or not; and how that'd go about being communicated, logistically speaking—how would I go about that? Would I ask first or would I just do? Would I even be active? I've been passive in the past, but then, maybe it was because I was paralyzed by fear. The idea of touching someone—it has never been a comfortable concept, haha. I was considering this every once in awhile. And my mind drifted to the FanFictions I was reading last night, the one I got off on (good orgasm, btw—dunno what was up w it, maybe it's because I was so boneless-exhausted, but I was like riding the vestiges of it for 5ish minutes—maybe my body is also confused about relative time). It was such a weird fic, but only as weird as any fic in that genre—RPF—is. Taking real people and putting them in this fantasy world, taking their apparent habits and transposing them, creating new and impossible interactions from them... An alternate history, "allohistory," said my lit professor... I also started thinking of a particular joke I either read in the FanFic or heard in the Supermega podcast... I can't remember, but I started smiling in class (I'm not sure for how long) and when I came to I had to stop smiling.

Many things made me feel bad. I have been trying to ignore them. That's why I didn't go straight to bed last night, at like 7 or 8 PM—because I had so much time and so much anxiety. I didn't want to dream of it, or even think about it before passing out. Towards the end of the Russian novel seminar, this kid had to do a presentation. I was very interested in this. Not because of the content. Like, not at all. He was so nervous. He gestured with the ends of his fingers—they trembled in the air. He swallowed every few words. He wasn't particularly articulate, like he had in his mind the repository containing all the possible phrasings, and he somehow mismanaged the subfolders. He was shaking and swallowing and engaging in what I hope is a nervous habit—he kept poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, and then clicking it somehow. All I could imagine was the suction between his tongue and cheek, the way the muscle must've flexed up and undulated, unsticking from the vacuum between flesh and other-flesh; the rush of oxygen into the new space, a little POP, his cheek skin falling limp. Every three words he had to stop to swallow and breathe. He couldn't speak in a string.

I used to be like that. I was almost embarrassed on his behalf; I only resisted because I knew I would've hated the pity myself. He looked so gross. I wanted to hold his hand, or talk to him after class, to hear about his nervousness, reassure him that it was all okay (it really was "okay"—not great, but without consequence, and at least his presentation was better than the other guy's. I mean, guy #2 was more articulate, but he kind of missed the point of the presentations, which was to interpret the novel THROUGH another story, rather than just interpreting the supplementary story.... just saying........). I still feel really regretful that I didn't make eye contact with him at least. To stroke his head or something.

Ah. Speaking of heads. I happened to observe the very top of Melvin's head yesterday. There was this spot, where the hair comes out, and I could see his pale scalp very easily, and I had a moment where I imagined he'd go bald from the top as he got old and this made me happy.

I had dreams. On Monday night, I had a dream I was kept in a murderer's house. A murder family, actually. The street was like any college hill Providence residential area, especially the ones closer to the bay— more trees. Only everything was magnified. The streets, although still two-lane, were much wider; the buses and cars, also much larger, although they'd get smaller once you interacted with them; sizes only changed in relation. The houses, very tall, trees also incredibly tall; all in the same proportions that they should've been, except for me. Inside one of the houses—I'd been running through the neighborhood at night—I went up to a nothing-looking home, where my friend lived. My apartment is also very nothing-looking—just some old house, which has clearly seen many an era of restoration, re-parsing the space—just some stairs leading to the door, a faceless exterior, some white-trimmed windows, the frames plain with a groove or two to give them dimension, etc. It might as well have been the house where my apartment is, actually, it was the same color, just oriented differently, and closer to the road, and surrounded by different buildings, and occupied by someone else.

This family had had a son (brother of my friend??), who was now dead, and I found out from my friend they'd murdered the son. The mother was fat, a smoker, an amalgamation of the neglectful mothers of my friends' from back in Troy. Always smelling like cigarettes, sitting on a faded couch, the TV playing, when they yelled they yelled hoarsely, they were almost always "in the other room," hiding from us, or us from them. There is something inherently terrifying about this, I think—I never liked those mothers. They weren't afraid to yell at other peoples' kids. The mother was the face of the murders. I am forgetting the gruesome details, but I know I saw it in my mind's eye, the way he struggled as they held him down and slit his throat. And there was some hot blonde girl, known as Deepthroat (yeah idk), who had known but was planning on gathering evidence first. The murderers found out and they slit her throat too. They were going to slit my throat. I spent the dream trying to escape; even though I left their house, I couldn't leave their eyes. I felt they knew, or would know inevitably, and then I would die.

The after-dream was nicer. Melvin was on a bench. I was drunk with sleepiness, I laid my head on his bony shoulder. At first unreciprocated. Then eventually holding hands and we arranged ourselves to lie down on the bench. Nothing feeling nicer than another head of hair nudging into my own. I liked being able to feel the bone and warmth.

In real life, I saw Melvin on Wednesday in literature, as normal. I came in breathless and anxious and my prof. was playing this weird kazoo song and Melvin said, "this is how I imagine the soundtrack to ur life" which was actually really funny and I liked the idea of being seen as that stupid so I was pleased. Oh, also, that girl!! Who sits next to him and is very pretty and makes me feel threatened!!! Is really nice!! Am I still threatened?? Yes. Because things are complicated. And I can always feel negatively towards people I generally like. She complimented my dress!! Also I described an aesthetic of cute/murder and she said, "You and I.... we're the same," and I felt a rush of adrenaline but then I wondered if I was stupid for laughing at that. Laughing as my way of expressing appreciation.

After class, Melvin and I sort of walked together a bit. I was prepared to walk w/out him like last time, but he started talking at me from behind and I was like... confused by that decision. Because the pretty girl was right next to us, and he could've spoken to her, since they're on friendly terms. But he didn't. Too much hope is bad for the soul!!! :))) Reminding myself that real life and dreams are separate occurrences. He was asking me about the Video Team and I told him, but got bored of that conversation (because it was all about me and I learned nothing about him), but happy that he was conversing w/ me at all. I keep wanting to say to him, "I dunno how to talk to you," but I don't know him well enough to know how he'd react. I guess that's also the same reason I don't know how to speak to him. What does he find interesting? Funny (the office, which, okay I guess, but I mean.. anything else?)? Does he like food? What sort? If not, why doesn't he like it? I just want him to... talk about himself. Next time, I will ask a question. I can't believe that always slips my mind in my nerves. I told him about my crow dream. He said, "That's scary," and I said, "eh," and he laughed, "nothing scary about being eaten alive," and I just had so many questions, haha.... that was it. Although later he facebook invited me to a lit arts event, which I will go to, so I can see him, 'cause I'm dumb!!! hahaha. He was in my dream last night too, but not sure why. Can't remember anything about it except for the whole thing was deeply unsettling. I remember learning my sister was ill in some sort of way...

I am so tired. I slept so much last night. I'm thinking of dropping linguistics. I feel too warm. Everything is uncomfortable now. Gonna go get changed for work.


Ad:0
https://monometric.io/ - Modern SaaS monitoring for your servers, cloud and services