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wires and air and time

March 22, 2004

i had this dream. she was in my bed, sleeping with me. it was now and we were considering whether to try dating again. and i wanted her there, i wanted to be close. but she wasn't satisfied with just close. she was pressed up against me hard, it almost hurt. the force of her body pushed me back and back towards the edge and i couldn't fight it and finally i fell out of the bed and she fell down on top of me. and then we laughed, but it wasn't funny. it was uncomfortable and out of control.

and yeah, it's bound to be a metaphor. seeing her had me questioning for a little while things i shouldn't question. david has a similar person in his life and he reframed it for me:

"every so often when we're chatting I feel that "ol' familiar sting".. just a twinge of that 'i really really wanna scratch that oh so itchable, evil evil poison oak'-type feeling.. at the same time I know like no else can that its just an idealized part of ***** that I'm responding to, because I want to believe that people are more good than bad..."

and i think it's true. i respond to the chemical promise of my connection with her. but that isn't her, it isn't us. it isn't really real, because the truth of it is that i'm not sure she is more good than bad. at least not significantly so, and so all these traits i ascribe to her memory are really just me writing a fiction populated by the ghosts of real life characters. impossibly good because they are no longer around to remind me of the daily reality of life with them.

i'm getting there. slowly. slowly. i wrote a poem for her and when i read it now i remember the hopes i pinned on it, on her. it all feels so far away somehow, and frozen.