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raybearLast night I dreamt I was meeting someone at a street fair/festival and ran into ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
inthealong, who was also waiting for a friend. We chatted while waiting and waiting and waiting...and eventually decided we were both being blown off. So we walked around together and kept talking. At one point she turned to me and said, "I'm almost glad that other person didn't show up, I've had a good time." The feeling was mutual, though I'm not sure if this statement happened before or after I nearly killed us both in the car because the brakes weren't working. It actually wasn't too scary, we were just cruising down a street at 25 mph and I managed to slow us down and veer towards a curb to try and help us stop. Even with the car accident, this dream was a pleasant change from the heartwrenching feeling of dread I fell asleep with.
In the good-news department, Ms. Verge asked me out to a madri gras dinner next week. I'm quite pleased. And yesterday I e-mailed my MFABFF about feeling depressed and he called me! Unfortunately it was while I was out jogging, but his message was so wonderful to hear.
I was going to watch a movie last night but instead got distracted on the phone chatting withvimandvigor, then wearemany. I was expecting her to fall asleep right after I called, but I was lucky enough to get an hour long catch-up session.
Last night I decided I'm breaking up with Proust. I'm done. Well, I'm not done, I'm only halfway through, but trust me, I'm done. I don't know how this will effect me having to lead a reading conference based on his book starting Thursday. I just can't handle his narcissistic tendencies anymore and I need to spend time with other writers as well as activities outside of books. He's sucking up all my energy and not being very giving or attentive. Once I realized I didn't have to finish the book (any more than I HAVE to do anything in life except breathe eat and sleep), that it didn't make me a failure as a writer, or a grad student, or a person, I got this immense feeling of being high. Freedom can be a powerful drug. I let go of the damn book, and soon enough I'd finished revising a story and sent it to someone for a read-through, worked on some new material, posted discussion in a conference, and started reading Nabokov. And most importantly, I felt better.
inthealong, who was also waiting for a friend. We chatted while waiting and waiting and waiting...and eventually decided we were both being blown off. So we walked around together and kept talking. At one point she turned to me and said, "I'm almost glad that other person didn't show up, I've had a good time." The feeling was mutual, though I'm not sure if this statement happened before or after I nearly killed us both in the car because the brakes weren't working. It actually wasn't too scary, we were just cruising down a street at 25 mph and I managed to slow us down and veer towards a curb to try and help us stop. Even with the car accident, this dream was a pleasant change from the heartwrenching feeling of dread I fell asleep with.In the good-news department, Ms. Verge asked me out to a madri gras dinner next week. I'm quite pleased. And yesterday I e-mailed my MFABFF about feeling depressed and he called me! Unfortunately it was while I was out jogging, but his message was so wonderful to hear.
I was going to watch a movie last night but instead got distracted on the phone chatting with
vimandvigor, then wearemany. I was expecting her to fall asleep right after I called, but I was lucky enough to get an hour long catch-up session. Last night I decided I'm breaking up with Proust. I'm done. Well, I'm not done, I'm only halfway through, but trust me, I'm done. I don't know how this will effect me having to lead a reading conference based on his book starting Thursday. I just can't handle his narcissistic tendencies anymore and I need to spend time with other writers as well as activities outside of books. He's sucking up all my energy and not being very giving or attentive. Once I realized I didn't have to finish the book (any more than I HAVE to do anything in life except breathe eat and sleep), that it didn't make me a failure as a writer, or a grad student, or a person, I got this immense feeling of being high. Freedom can be a powerful drug. I let go of the damn book, and soon enough I'd finished revising a story and sent it to someone for a read-through, worked on some new material, posted discussion in a conference, and started reading Nabokov. And most importantly, I felt better.
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no subject
Date: 2004-02-18 08:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-18 09:10 am (UTC)oh mirah. the mere title of your entry made me happy. That is the best relationship song ever-beginning to end-its a journey. holy hail mary.
and I'm glad you're breaking up with Proust. Is that the song you're dedicating to him? awww.
MY kind of Astrology
Date: 2004-02-18 09:16 am (UTC)pleased, i am. its always so curious how the novels you
choose to read mirror your present life in some way. now
that's MY kind of astrology.
a date with ms. verge huh?? .. hum..
no subject
Date: 2004-02-18 10:12 am (UTC)far better sounding, even with the
car accident, in comparison to
the dreams i have been having lately.
i wish i dreamt it too.
oh. proust. oh. dear. oh
& (yesssss to mirah)