Restless past couple of days. There's sleeping, but it's minimal. Just kind of laying in bed rolling around in a state of mental anarchy. Finally, after all this time, it's turned against me, and I have no control over my thoughts anymore.
It's probably because right now I'm like, biologically bonkers. This fluctuating weather is really battering my immune system. Fuck you, February. Pick a twenty degree bracket and stick with it, because I can't deal with the air shouting new things at me whenever I step outside. "Fifty degrees! Twelve degrees! Thirty-two! Fifteen! Forty!" Shut up.
Last night my dreams were all kinds of unhinged yet somehow continuous, united by this insane search for water. It was like, I walked up a road to the top of a hill where a friend was lying flat on his back, and I sat on the curb and we traded whispery secrets about sonnets and fear. Alternately he would pop into backbend and a car would drive beneath the bridge of his back, and then he would lay flat and squeeze into the road and let another car drive over him.
What did we talk about? Was it him, or was it someone else? He said he was falling. As I walked away, he arched up into another backbend and a truck slammed into him, carrying him down the hill, but I didn't even flinch, I was so thirsty.
Then I found a giant glass windmill, which I could only see if I was facing a certain angle. The entire thing would slide into nothing after two steps to the left. I almost didn't see it, but then I remembered my friend told me the water was there, even though it's not the water I'm looking for.
I bumped around the base of it, trying to avoid the swipes of the lattice glass sails that dipped into a shallow winding creek. The water was warm, and slightly salty, and then I noticed a sign on the ground: the windmill was propelled by a creek of my tears. Fucking what?
Drinking those droplets generated by myself was far less fulfilling than I expected, so I picked up my hobo bandana stick (which I didn't have before) and went on my way.
There were more interjections. In my dream, I wrote a blog, talked to a broken car. I think. So odd.
Then I followed a squirrel for awhile (this is the part that really, really shakes me. Because of previous correlations. Seriously. Fucked up.) until it started to glow, and flew away. I stared after it and kept on walking right off a cliff and down a waterfall.
And then I woke up.
No, it was more like: then I sat up, completely exhausted as if I hadn't slept at all.