Sunday, April 18, 2004

My attempts at verbal expression

...resemble fingerpainting done by a two year old. At least this is how I've felt lately. I know that most of the time, I'm making an attempt to squeeze out my thoughts and I have to battle with the fact that I'm usually trying to write when I'm pissed off or pressed for time.

Anxious moments, disturbing dreams peppered my sleep last night. I could hear everything happening outside with an mind-deafening acuteness. At 2:30 AM I was awakened by the man honking his horn repeatedly outside his girfriend's apartment. "Please Stop!" I wanted to yell out the window. " She doesn't want you any more. She's fucking someone now who makes more than you do." Cruel and bitchy, no, but I refrained from doing so, because I realized that it probably would only contribute to making the rest of the block angry. I tried to cover my head with a pillow, but not only did I have a difficult time breathing. I could still hear the human-like snores coming from Otto. Here was my pug-nosed dog struggling to breathe in his sleep... and here I was trying to suffocate the outside sounds and myself. I eventually drifted off to sleep and dreamt a dream of 'interior design hell.' I dreamt that J wanted to decorate the house in neapolitan ice-cream colors with chartreuse accents. I dreamt that I was paralyzed to act because I actually had no sense of taste and style (in the dream). I was awakened who knows when by the incessant morning song of a bird outside my window. SHUT UP YOU HAPPY LITTLE BIRD!

I usually sleep quite well on the weekends, so I concluded that this was all due to left-over anxiety from tax-time and buying a home. Baskin and Robin colors, oh my!

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