Conversations With Myself

me: Hey.

me: Hey.

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: Uh.

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: Agreed.

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?


#hey I just met you/ and this is craaaazy/ but here my nuuumba/ so call me maybe#


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