There was a moment where I lost my sense of self when sifting through pictures from earlier this year. I was lost in the rhythm of scrolling and suddenly outside of myself.

It made me dizzy.

I've been dreaming about you all my life.

I feel like my body is turning against me.

Starting with my mind. Ending in my esophagus, scarred and burned with bile.

I woke up last night because I couldn't breathe. I was choking and my throat was burning and I thought that was it for me.

It wasn't.

Now I'm making the most boring note of it here. Leaving out the fear and the flashes and the worried bouts of panic that kept waking me up.

If you're not dead, you're alive.
I guess I'm alive.

One of the hardest things about being single is not letting the loneliness get to you and jumping the gun just so you're not alone. 

The trouble is waiting for the moment to know when jumping in is right. 

Dream time:

There was a stream of weird scenario-jumping so I'll start with what I remember and leave out the segue, because there isn't one.

This dream started with a western feel do it. In a city with dirt roads and overgrown grass, not that it was technologically impaired, it's just how the time was. And there were beasts that were using this town as a feeding supply. I'm not really sure of any back story here, just that I was caught in the middle and tried to save who I could. Ultimately, I realized it was a dream because I wasn't afraid, and I tried fighting back. I was weak, though, I couldn't really hurt the things, they were nearly immortal. Though, I did get to split one's jaw at the hinges, that was the most of my damage. And these things did destroy a house/building that I was primarily residing at. Throughout this whole segment, though, I never felt like I belonged in the town. I was more in the feeling that I was passing through.

Then I'm at a lesser known award ceremony, something to do with music predominantly, and it's in another country or rather some small city and not a lot of people care much about it. I figured you wouldn't be there, Braille-Reader. But somehow you sneaked into my unconscious mind. At first, things were passive and nonchalant. I didn't want to hound you with anything I had to say, but somehow you still knew. Maybe you didn't, actually, maybe you were just acting on your own accord. (Except for the fact that this was my dream. So I'm sure I had some influence there.) So despite my few attempts to leave you to enjoy the awards show and possibly reap your own if you were nominated, you stuck around with me. The most vivid part of the dream: we were leaning over the edge of a balcony, standing, and you were close to me. Elbow to elbow. And I remembered wondering why you were there. You had literally a million other places you could be, where other people more deserving of your company were, but you kept looking me in the eyes and laughing at the extremely terrible jokes that I nervously made. And in a moment of silence, I saw you looking out over the crowd, toward the stage - your hand was close to mine and my heartbeat began to drown out the din of the theater. So I stretched out my fingers and started to weave them into yours, scared and curious and excited. Before I knew it, we were holding hands. I was too focused on them that I didn't notice you staring at me. Smiling. But there you were. We locked eyes. Didn't say anything. Just looked back out to the stage, hands still together. It felt nice. Not overwhelming. Not devastating to wake up from. Just nice that it happened, regardless of it being real or not, just that I had the moment to feel that, even for a second.

Then I did wake up.
I tried to will myself back in it, but we know that never works.

Here's still next time.

People are weird.

They grieve and mourn in weird ways.

I've just spent the last hour visiting Facebook pages of people I know that have passed away, died, however you want to say it - and see people that've been gone for 3+ years that are still getting posts on their walls - on the daily. People videoing themselves singing the deceased favorite song, or some song that reminds them of the dead, then posting it to their wall. What did people do before this upswing in social media to cope? Write letters and mail them to an address that some living person had taken over? Leave messages on a stranger's answering machine?

It's odd. I don't understand it. I've never really been effected by death as much as others. But I've always thought of death differently than a lot of people around me. I feel like I think of a lot of things differently.

I don't mean to be insensitive. It's just weird is all.

My guts feel warm like maple syrup on a fresh pancake. It's nice. It's like I'm full of blankets just out of the dryer.

...and no, I'm not drunk. I'm just full of Chinese food.