me: Do I have a fever?
me: Fuck. Yes.
me: Ugh. I hate fevers.
me: Me too.
me: Remember that one really weird fever dream I had? Where I bought a stadium or something? D’you think they’re supposed to be prophetic?
me: What mumbo-jumbo. No Interpretation of Dreams shit here, please.
me: No, no, not like that. See, its kind of boring if dreams are indeed just random re-hashed fragments of thoughts from my subconscious. that’s…too mundane. Also Brian Weiss writes reasonably reasonably about dreams.
me: *scoffs* So you mean giving it some sort of order, structure and meaning, therefore taming the untamed, makes it less boring?
me: Argued myself into a spot here.
me: Hey listen. Shut up, okay? I was trying to sleep.
me: I was?
me: Is it weird that I interrupt myself?
me: Yeah, a very cool kind of weird. *high fives*
me: I wish my consciousness was as still and clear as a kung-fu pool of water.
me: Then I could be like Jackie Chan.
me: Somehow I never figured Jackie Chan as that meditate-y sort.
me: Me neither.
*moment of silence*
me: My feet are cold.
me: Why are my feet always cold?
me: And wrinkly?
me: And don’t forget ugly.
me: I am never taking my shoes off in front of a guy I like.
me: Yeah but what if he comes to love my feet because they’re, you know, my feet?
me: That doesn’t change the ugliness of my feet. Its his perception that’s changing. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’. Ever heard of that?
me: Yeah. Too fucking depressing, actually. It just means that nothing actually changes, except for perception. And human perception is incredibly and perpetually biased. Makes me wonder. What is beauty, really?
me: Oh please, no. I am NOT in the mood for serious aesthetic discussions.
me: Remember this song?
me: NO NOT AGAIN NO.
#hey I just met you/ and this is craaaazy/ but here my nuuumba/ so call me maybe#