i went out to lunch today with seraphim (we were called angels today, mostly it was her, though). so amazing to be able to walk to the bay and have lunch right on the water...

note to self:lie on tummy to type in entries more often...having havanalog kneading your back is quite a lovely thing.

back to lunch. seraphim is 35, incredibly pale and blonde...a ghostly combination...and is currently separated from her husband. usually i do not go for the stick women, but she is quite ethereal. a half of a sandwich and infant talk later and all interest i had in her beauty faded. it was most half hearted when - after she told me she had started dating - i told her that TT and i were also dating, we just prefer to date the same person at the same time.

i was completely bored with actually attempting to explain and just enjoyed the rest of the walk and large bouquet of sunflowers she had given me (she paid for two and was given four - pretty.) sometimes it is better to stay on a friendly level, especially with people one works with.

*shrug*

two dreams from last night:

TT is out of the picture. i am not quite sure if he is dead, we are broken up or ...he is just gone. it is at the point where i have accepted it - i know he is gone but there is no pain. odd. i sign a lease for a new apartment...very plain and strangely boxish. there is a dank/damp kitchen, living room with grey industrial carpet and long, tan, sectional sofa, and a teeny bedroom without an overhead light. the apartment is horrid and smelling of mildew, but it is what i can afford and i am happy to have a place to live.

as i move in i carry my partnerincrime from the car...he is the size of a small child and completely limp. he says nothing, does not move on his own, stares off into space - but i said i would help him, so i am. i lay him gently on the sofa and crawl in to the fourth room - a room with glass walls and a bonfire pit in the center. there is not room to stand so i crawl around the fireplace room gathering up wood for the fire...it is cold here, we have to be warm.

dream two:

i am with my second grade class in the same apartment, now converted into a classroom. we all sit on the sectional, all twenty or so of us. we are all almost in our thirties in mind, but in body we are again eight years old. i reminisce with my classmates - in second grade they were too young for the hatred and viciousness i would later experience - being back in their young bodies both softens and matures their attitudes toward me. we talk about how things turned out and how they could have been different. they understand me and sympathize with what they put me through.

the teacher arrives and silences us. i notice some drawings i have made posted on the wall behind her. she explains the assignment while glancing up at my pictures - the assignment is to draw a butterfly. i think and think of different butterflies to draw but i can only see moths, lacking in color and coated with thick little fur-like hides.

i am at one end of the couch, and the teacher starts at the other, asking her students to display what they have drawn to first her for comments and then the class. she works her way down to me and i get more and more upset the closer my time to show my drawing gets. she calls out my name and i refuse to show her a drawing. i have not sketched anything and will not, ever. i curl up tighter and tighter, sobbing into my arm wrapped knees.

the sad still has a way of rearing her ugly face, she does.

holy fuck, i refuse to watch the rememberingJohnRitter special on ABC. Hey everyone! Let's capitalize on death!! (again...again...again...)

damn.

there...NOVA: Dirty Bombs...much better.