fewd

Campbell's chicken noodle soup is thoroughly dissatisfying tonight. i don't understand why anyone would think it's some sort of magical remedy for any kind of sickness. that said--recent food intake has been more out of necessity and less enjoyable when trying to save money and ration food. i'm writing all of this right now and yet in the back of my mind i know i should be doing my script analysis but i ridiculously talk myself out of it or avoid the topic altogether. i swear, when i'm grueling over a script for 4 hours it's like pulling teeth even though i have absolutely no idea on earth what that's like. so...bad comparison.

today i got onto the A train and somebody was eating mexican. it was horrible. the smell just filled up the whole car and smelled like a pack of businessmen who take their clients to el chico restaurante and forget to bring those free packs of beano that everyone has in their medicine cabinets JUST IN CASE. well if beano could be turned into an aerosol spray with a slightly lilac-y, clean laundry finish--this woman needed it. i was sitting on a bench about 8 feet from where this 50 year old woman was chowing down and i swear i had to put my scarf over my nose so my brain wouldn't be overwhelmed by the fact that my senses were going haywire and about to revolt from this flatulent smell. yes--it did smell worse than panera's broccoli cheese soup left in a hot dodge stratus for 2 days. today, God was laughing at me because when i could stand the smell no longer, the woman gets up with her styrofoam box of cheezy beans and sits next to me.
it still escapes me why she chose to do this.
i didn't see anyone dare try to steal her feast nor did i spot any shadesters aboard the car. i mean, was this lady lonely? was her food really that good? why was she drinking a bottle of hawaiian punch with it. that had to taste bad. and why, oh why did i have to have an awkward moment with this woman? yes. i did; because at the canal street stop a group of kids get on the car and start break-dancing. and it's great. i momentarily forget that i'm sitting next to a giant refried bean. that's how great their dancing was. then the woman turns to me, takes a swig of the hawaiian punch and asks me a question. twice. i know it was a question because her voice went 'quesTION'. and i awkwardly paused. then chose one of two answers 'yes' or 'no'. the safest answers. short. no follow up. highly new yorker answers. i muttered a quick 'yes,' thanked God that the train had finally reached my stop and bolted out the subway doors and breathed a deep breath of lovely, musty new york subway station air into my lungs.

there's this horrible habit about me that i can't seem to shake. euch. i cant even admit it because it leaves a dirty taste in my mouth that's sour and lingering. procrastination. lack of umph. sometimes i wonder where all the faith in myself that i used to have the huge, childish dreamer in me has gone. i feel like i've turned into a cynic and my worst critic. but this must not be true, it cannot be true, i desparately hope it's not true. and i can't firgure out why i am all these things. has there been anything to make me lose my faith in myself? i don't know. was it ever there to begin with? why don't i believe in myself? is it because i think that i can't hold my own, that i'll never be skinny enough or pretty enough or just enough of enough to be anything worthwhile? this is so meladramatic, i need to get over this pity party. i think what procrastination and all these things stem from is fear. fear of failing, or succeding, fear of being vulnerable, fear of becoming someone that i might even like, fear of loving and actually actually accepting being loved, being worthy of being loved? is it possible. i hope so. this is such a rambling, but right now that's what's on my heart.
now i need to stop procrastinating
man oh man.

le rêve

I had a dream the other night and some weird part of me thinks its about racism. I don’t want to write the whole dream down because it didn’t makes sense to me, but I remember being closed off in an office, it this little corner office with two women, one with blonde hair , one with brown and they were both white. They were in a heated discussion and all I remember seeing is the woman with brown hairs hyes growing brown like someone dropped a piece of melted chocolate into some oily substance and the brown grew and grew and washed over the other colors of the eye and vessels emerged and then it was sucked back into the pupil and all was normal. But everytime she was angry the pupil would burst forth with the brown inky iris and it would ripple out like a magicians fabric and spread past her eyes onto the creases of her sockets and then would be sucked back up in a matter of seconds and we all knew that she was hiding something. Another image I remember is talking to this girl who was not a woman yet, not by age standards, but just by looking at her and the smallness of her eyes. She was a receptionist of some sort and was sitting behind a desk like I had in fifth grade with the hold underneath to put pencil pouches in. she was the color of a velveteen rabbit that’s been slightly loved and she had only one tuft of hair on her head that was coarse and waved to her right in one single bend. I kept talking to her and asking how to get out of this place, what it was about and that everything was ok and that she could escape if she wanted to and every now and then this purple sparkely eyeshadow would start at her tearducts and bend outwards over her eye and they would grow large and then retract like something was pulsing inside and needed to be birthed, I kept getting closer to her and bending down and telling her it was ok, she needed to explain, give me some answer to why we were here and what was going on and her eyes would grow so lovely and plum like and spread out and then retract. And her hair, her hair began to grow out fro its frizzy tuft and spiral out like some sort of waving sea anemone and then it would shrink back down. Her purple eyeshadow kept spreading out and her hair kept morphing until she became something that resembled a bulb of some sort, something that was blooming or had bloomed or was holding something that was about to be born. It was very light green and was almost like the very core of lettuce when you get down to the last leaf closest to the fore and she sat still, with no eyes or human features, just small photosynthetic veins reaching out to the rippled ends and there was no mouth, no words to answer my question. Only a post it note stuck on to her head of a lettuce leaf/ flower that said something along the lines of go to this site called le blage and read the blog and there you will find the answers. It would’ve been right above her left ear. And it was bittersweet and I didn’t know what had happened, whether she had died or somehow was just being born and freed and escaped, but i took the note and left.

**(I looked up le blage online and the closest thing I found was le blague which means: the joke/the hoax/ the fib)



oh subconscious how i will never understand you