I’ve been dreaming again. Not that this is necessarily new. I’m always dreaming, right? But not these dreams. These are familiar dreams, but taking new forms. I’m not a victim in them anymore, and the outcome isn’t clear. When you get past the point of knowing exactly what you want (since, that is a bit of a phase, isn’t it?), the dream has no real goal anymore, not in the same way. Now the dream is a bunch of stopping and starting, random miscue conversation, big skies. For some reason the sky is always particularly arched in these dreams, as if the whole world is condensed into them. The world is less round, and taller, I’m hemmed in by mountains, I can only decend into this world in an airplane. So I’m standing there, head filled with the space I have to grow into, mountains curving toward me, angled precariously by the edge of my lenses, and the conversation continues. It goes it circles. I’m bitter and annoyed but mostly it’s a front, because I’m not really used to feeling anything else toward you at the moment. And you are just human. Nothing else. You don’t even have the power to be mean or frightening or even kind in the dreams anymore. You’re a lump of meatspace, like every other lump of meatspace, and I’m not sure how acknowledge my understanding of that. Is it that I’m prepared to forgive you? Is it that I want to? (Do I?) I don’t know.
I’ve run out of shampoo. Can you believe that? I used to have 1500 bottles of shampoo lying around because I get so bored of the smell of whatever I’m using. Now I’m down to the dregs of two different shampoos, and it’s highly unsatisfactory. Yesterday I accidentally tried to wash my hair with conditioner. (When will these people understand that the blind need differently shaped bottles in order to avoid that mistake?)