Mr. November

This blog is becoming 
a dream journal as well
as anything else. It seems
beneficial to me to keep
note of the very good
and very bad dreams.


And last night happened
to bring a pretty awful dream.


I was at a party,
with so many people
I did not know,
and ended up in a ball
on their kitchen floor
having an anxiety attack.


Somebody picked me up
and tried to get me
to play some really dumb game
and then I yelled at them for a
long time, until I ran outside.


But upon my running stint
one of my friends
stands up from this stranger's 
dining room table
and yells at me across the house
"You're ruining my life!! I hate you! 
Get out!"


Which hurt, in the dream,
and outside of it.


But I run and stumble
outside and none other
than the guy I love
is seen walking down
the sidewalk out of
the party with his
girlfriend-figure
practically draped across him,
and he holds her and they laugh.


As I am crying in the bushes
across the street.


And then we are all elsewhere,
at a lake in a parking lot,
and I have lost something
very important to somebody else,
a baby something.


And then his girlfriend is trying to 
help me find it
and I'm still bawling
and she's so nice
and beautiful.
The two of them find it,
not me.


And nobody ever asks
me why I'm crying
for the entire dream.


It was torturous.
And things like 
this linger with me
because they're
so goddamn true.