I couldn’t get to sleep well last night. I was walking along a stone blue wall to dreams and just as I got there I felt myself falling off the side. My legs kicked me awake again. The hall light through the door, the alarms, the shuffling of feet.

But when I did dream is was about a man who fixed backs. My brother and a few others sat around a stark white office with strange mirrors at each small station. We were there after hours – I’m not sure why or what we were waiting for. And then Cynthia Nixon from Sex and the City and her husband (not any husband that I know of, plus she’s a lesbian) were drunk driving. And then I was with my mom at our old house in Napa but it felt like my grandparent’s house. Some random guy was coked out, high on something and kept making appearances for no other reason than to tell us he was tired and he was going back to bed.

I went to explore the garage and in it I found everything I could ever want to decorate my house with. All the things I needed, my style  – vintage, eclectic, colorful. 2 old cellos lay on shelves near the ceiling and as I pulled one down I found a 115 dollar bill from the 30s underneath it along with an old check. I wondered if I could still cash the check. The bill was slightly wet and as I peeled it from the wooden shelf it ripped a bit. Part of it still stuck, left behind.

I found my grandma’s old shoes. Fabulous shoes that didn’t fit, but I tried them on anyway. Old red chairs, day bed, decorations – I wanted all of them and knew exactly where they were going and where they should be placed.

And now awake, I feel furious at something I can’t get to. The cat fitting herself into annoying places she doesn’t fit on my legs. Something wants me angry – my thoughts drift to times in the past where I was hurt, mad. Things I haven’t thought of in months. I’m sorry, Tula. This is not working for me. I feel oddly alone with my nerves exposed.

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