The words "too dramatic" have been circling 'round inside my head these last few weeks. And it doesn't seem to help to be writing a story about it... I'm not "getting it out of my system", but instead sinking slowly into a deeper indigo melancholy.

But just as people become impatient with my need to overdramatize and yearn and suffer oh-so-uselessly, I'm often miffed with the shoulder-shrugging-that's-life indifference that so many exhibit. I long to rattle these people, shriek for them to "Feel Something!", penetrate them unforgivingly until they taste deep shards of pain.

Simply too much Fitzgerald... scarred for life by "a fish jumping and a star shining, and the lights around the lake... gleaming."

I'm skimming again.

The world is raging on around me and I barely feel like I'm here. I just can't seem to engage.

Last night he asked me simple questions, and I couldn't wrap my mind around the answers. Like when someone asks you what your favorite word is right now and you stutter and you stall, your mind completely blank under all that pressure. It's not as if my brain was firing off possibilities as quickly as my ego and my insecurity could censor them. I simply couldn't create an original thought.

Empty.

And this worries me, because tonight will be steeped in conversation. The words are going to matter. And I have this desire to sparkle.

Last night's dream looked like this.

AMAZING factory loft in Fort Pt. Channel, skylts, hdwd flrs, high ceiling, exp. brick & beam, bdrm enclsd w/ wall of glass, opn ktchn, grt cty views, enormous prvt roofdk and grdn, claw ft tub, walls painted var glorious jewel tones, fabulous accstcs for late nght Franklin Bruno obsessions, lks dramatically romantic in cndlght, quiet plc to write frst collctn of sht stories. $975

Needless to say, I woke up happy.