These Dreams

My ghost came for me last night. A long, rather involved dream as far as these things go. Somehow all of the dreams run together, you know? Snatches of the old brown van, the grape smell of his hair, a pool with all of the people there that should have, could have, didn’t. They stay with me all day, the tacky residue of something cheap that sticks and collects dust, like the outline of a bandage that’s been held with tape.

Odd that the old dreams haven’t come back more often, really. The dream of the brown van with me trying to drive it backwards and from the back seat, or hurtling along a hilly, tree-lined street driverless, with me in the passenger street. The huge wave that comes in and then receeds, leaving large marine mammals stranded in its wake, then surging back.

I finished The Four Agreements today. It kind of made me sick to my stomach. The weirdest things make me scared these days: Aincient Toltec wisdom for instance. So the writing was kind of foofy, and I might have liked it better had the writing not been so foofy.

And I’ll leave off with a four agreement Valentine’s Day thought for you: It isn’t about me. That I got nothing for Valentine’s Day isn’t about me. If I’d gotten a dozen roses, still not about me.  Somehow, Valentine’s Day is impossible not to take personally.

These Dreams

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