A real live lover, could have been a book.

I can't stop reading this book, but not, like in a good way. I want to stop reading, I want it to be done, I want to move on to the next on my list, but I'm only 2/3 through. I'm too far into it to give up, I'm trying to see if it will pay off, and there are certainly moments and sentences I like, some really hilarious lines and interesting characters, but mostly I just feel a sense of dread when I look at it and think of reading it. It's strange to have such a visceral response to a book. It's kind of appealing, like poking at a wound or picking a scab. I mean, I've always been one who prefers a strong reaction provoked in me, rather than just pure ambivalence. But also, it's not really fun either. Damn books.

I had dinner with an old friend (Poet Coworker) last night and we met up downtown and took the brown line up to Montrose to try this new place that ended up being closed on Tuesdays and went to a thai place and had conversations about what a marriage means and finding an identity that may or may not have been lost and what is chosen family and I didn't last long before I was ready to go home, it was a long day, I was tired, I had been around people all day with no break. But it was good to catch up and besides, it saved me from being on the blue line train that derailed and caught fire and the chances are fairly high that might have been me, and frankly writing about it now means I have no interest in getting on a subway train to go to work this morning, even though I'm sure today it will be the safest its ever been because of yesterday's accident.

And I had a really intense dream that I remembered upon waking, I was still so hurt, and then I forgot, but it just came back to me in a flash. About old names and revealing and accidental wounds that are up-ending. But not, perhaps unforgiveable. I think it was triggered by hearing that name last night and something is locked up there, I guess. More to think about. Because I don't have enough right now, right? But really, last night, before I melted down in an exhausted moody mess who was 2 days late on giving myself a shot, I was actually thinking, it's all pretty fcking good. And you know what? It's true. Isht is still hard at times and confusing and its not going to go away. Ever. I mean, it's something I keep going back to, there are no free passes to fix it all, and there are even very few watershed periods in one's life. You just got to learn to be yourself and do it in the midst of it all.