Bored To Death.

“Bored to death/got mad and lonely…”

I can’t sleep. I did nap a little throughout the course of the day. I did also get an early night. My body is doing peculiar things. My period is a week late and nowhere to be seen. I’m trying not to think about it too much. It’ll come. I’ve also not been dreaming, or at least not recalling my dreams. I woke in a frightful fit just after 1:30am following a bizarre dream about a Polish cab driver I was certain I knew but don’t. He drove me from my place to the city (which was actually New York or London, I’m not sure) and then took me to the sea which was where I’d ask to be driven to in the first place, then of course, while approaching the sea I learned that my purse was empty so my mind immediately began to construct an elaborate get-a-away. I’d have him drive me back to my apartment, which wouldn’t really be my apartment, of course, have him wait outside and then I’d enter the building and escape some how, in some way, out the back and saunter home. Waiting for me at home, however was his wife. She’d been drinking furiously for hours and seemed sad and depressed, mascara mapping her face. I grew nervous about her being in my flat so I began strategising ways in which I could get her to leave. She wouldn’t. Then the Polish cab driver arrived. The stairwell was lined with people I did and didn’t know. It was all relatively quiet but my heart was pounding, all I could think about was money and climbing and climbing these hideously carpeted stairwells to nowhere, to no avail. I woke in a sweat. I confirmed that my door was locked. I did a little wee wee. I drank some water. I jumped on line.

I considered writing then logged in to Facebook instead. I learned that Jonathan Ames had accepted my friendship request. This pleased me. And some 4,5000 others it would seem.

I have grown very fond of this man and his writing over the past few days. Thanks Tash.

And now for another little Case of The Lonely White Dove…

“And why are you so quiet now standing in the doorway? You chose your journey long before you came upon this highway.” – Leonard Cohen.

“Write you cunt, it’s all you’re good for…” – James Joyce.


One Response to “Bored To Death.”
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