I really should start journaling again
Aug. 8th, 2018 12:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fufarawI had the loveliest dream this morning, after semi-waking and realizing I still had time on the clock and dozing off again.
I was sharing rooms with two other women, who vaguely resembled people I actually know, but weren't those actual women. It was apparently a similar arrangement to the Writers in Residence program in NC, but in a 1940s era apartment rather than a colonial-era historic house.
The lovely thing was the low-pressure atmosphere of living with women, writing, and reading, and staring into space, and casual conversations, and laughing together over shared experiences.
While reading, one of the women mused, "Why are there men?" and I understood her to mean that life was so much more simple and pleasant without the attention-demanding, sucking up all the air presence of men. "Except for sex," she grinned. And of course, I can take or leave sex, with anybody, and to be honest that would be mostly leave.
Then there was the part where I noticed the two of them huddled up together and whispering--what was I to assume, except that they had decided I didn't fit in, and they wanted me to leave. I was happily surprised when they produced balloons and confetti and two wrapped packages with ribbons, that unwrapped, were small stacks of children's books in beautiful bindings. And then the clock went off. So far the good mood of the dream has followed me into the day.br><br>
I've been off coffee for a few weeks because of a persistently iffy tum. But I had my first cup this morning, with a slice of angel food cake with warmed full-berry strawberry preserves and a dab of whipped cream cheese on top. The rest of the day will be salad and grilled chicken, and an excellent mood.
I was sharing rooms with two other women, who vaguely resembled people I actually know, but weren't those actual women. It was apparently a similar arrangement to the Writers in Residence program in NC, but in a 1940s era apartment rather than a colonial-era historic house.
The lovely thing was the low-pressure atmosphere of living with women, writing, and reading, and staring into space, and casual conversations, and laughing together over shared experiences.
While reading, one of the women mused, "Why are there men?" and I understood her to mean that life was so much more simple and pleasant without the attention-demanding, sucking up all the air presence of men. "Except for sex," she grinned. And of course, I can take or leave sex, with anybody, and to be honest that would be mostly leave.
Then there was the part where I noticed the two of them huddled up together and whispering--what was I to assume, except that they had decided I didn't fit in, and they wanted me to leave. I was happily surprised when they produced balloons and confetti and two wrapped packages with ribbons, that unwrapped, were small stacks of children's books in beautiful bindings. And then the clock went off. So far the good mood of the dream has followed me into the day.br><br>
I've been off coffee for a few weeks because of a persistently iffy tum. But I had my first cup this morning, with a slice of angel food cake with warmed full-berry strawberry preserves and a dab of whipped cream cheese on top. The rest of the day will be salad and grilled chicken, and an excellent mood.
