reminded of a dream of a dusty room filling up my lungs

the sheer amount of microscopic shit, of little pieces of lint or dust or other, sent up by my agitation of the bed caused me some sort of profound desire to address this and to say hello I see you, I understand exactly what you mean in this adjustable too-hot lamp and on this square balsa wood side table that belongs to anyone else and the closet full of objects of the same manner and exactly 7 different word documents opened up “to be rediscovered and rethought at a later time” I’m sick of being so dysfunctional in the world with the ticking lamp and the books all over the floor and my posture just terrible and the “adult life” coming up like a new chore when I first learned I had to wash my own laundry or when other people “needed” the washer so mom did them anyway and I felt like new fresh clothes just magically happened and my greater awakening is when the house is gone and I am also and they will sell it all out and I am responsible for what I leave behind. We are all responsible for what we leave behind. The galactic shit still flying around the cone of the creaking light reminded me of something I can’t quite tap into. Something important and forgotten and turned against myself with the pain of knowing somewhere inside but a huge deficit of emotion. It will take a weekend. Give me a weekend and lets see how this thing flies. There are so many possible distractions. (So much social. It is a distraction from these things. The insurances and assurances and closet spaces and crawl spaces and talking through something with another human being saying this is exactly like something I know and have experienced. I can feel your pain through my own pain and I can acknowledge that our pains are separate. Same with happiness, it is just less difficult to talk about.)

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