Last night I had a dream, I don’t remember what about, but I remember waking up feeling nostalgic. I remember reaching out my hand as I was breaking conscious, trying to hold on to some thread of something. I remember trying to grasp something as elusive as water, as I sunk below the surface of dreams and drowned myself in reality. When I woke, I felt forlorn, torn, and defeated.
It took me longer than usual to get out of bed today, and as I pulled in to work late this morning, I simply sat in my car listening to the sound of the radio. Alanis Morisette was on telling me about how I live and I learn and I make mistakes and I cry or something; right back at you Alanis, especially when you lost Ryan Reynolds.
It took me even longer to exit my car than it did exiting my bed, but I eventually managed to do so regretfully. Determined to undo the horrid experience between wake and sleep, I marched to work convicted and convinced my day would be better. I was quite wrong.
I’m feeling emotionally, physically, and most definitely financially destitute. Who else in this world works four jobs and cancels their gym membership so they can afford to pay for tuition for a school that sucks the soul out of your life only a little bit less than your ex did when he broke up with you a handful of months ago? That, my friends, is exactly how broken I am.