Yesterday was rough. I dissociated a LOT. You see, I had an 'impactful' therapy session and the rest of the day was spent attempting to wrangle my psyche.
But man those dissociations were brutal. I spent a couple hours perusing books and movies at the library, and even exchanged texts with Agata for recommendations. I chose approximately 3 DVDs and 5 books. By the time I got to my car, and Agata asked what I had chosen, I couldn't remember. It had only been a couple of minutes. The selections were in my purse in the backseat, so I was trying to answer her text without too much digging, but I could not for the life of me remember even one of my choices. It was embarrassing, it was scary. Where had I been? What else had I done?
When I got home, it was weird to look at the books and movies seemingly for the first time.
Sloane Crosley's I Was Told There'd Be Cake
Oscar Wilde's An Ideal Husband
The Green Bride Guide
Maya Angelou's Even The Stars Look Lonesome
DVDs: The Pickwick Papers
The Grapes of Wrath
Even now, I had to find the stacks of books and movies. I had forgotten again.
One thing I can't seem to forget lately is Brian Chambers, legendary boyfriend of all time...
We'd spend our nights drinking red wine, making love, falling asleep holding hands. In the morning, he would wake me gently by playing an Iron & Wine record. When my eyes opened, he would be sipping coffee, reading the newspaper. He read all the important stuff and I would read our horoscopes. We'd spend the day in Dolores Park, high on each other.
That was the life...
I would instantly marry the man that could make me feel that way again. Especially because my last relationship was such an emotional prison, not allowing me to have any feelings. For someone who's biologically wired to feel things more intensely, it was utter, constant, torturous, HELL.
And I was thinking this morning: Being at this place in my life, where I craft constantly, attempt to cook, hand-grind my coffee beans (Brian even used to roast his own beans), shop locally, spend hours at the library (he was a librarian), listen to copious amounts of The Shins, Nathan Wiley, and Nick Drake, it all reminds me of Brian Chambers. He'd fit so perfectly into my daily life. For example, He or someone like him wouldn't mind me waking up before dawn to write in my journal, and he wouldn't mind my fuck-ups in the kitchen (he'd probably get a kick out of it). He wouldn't mind being woken up by the sound of me hand-grinding the coffee; he'd probably dig the aroma, and he'd smile to himself that I want to do it in the first place. He wouldn't mind staying in bed while Iron&Wine plays softly in the background until I'm done writing; it'd probably lull him back to sleep. And when I'd be done pouring my soul into my journal, if I snuggle back under the covers, he wouldn't mind if I was fragile and if my face was wet with tears; he'd ask softly 'how'd it go today?'. He'd be wise enough to know that they're MY feelings, MY issues, and that I wasn't going to blame him or hold him responsible. And he'd be open enough to acknowledge when something WAS him, was US, just like he did in real life.
It's a shame we met when I was still too naive. Today he is a married man and a new father, and I sigh and wish him the best.
current mood: nostalgic
current music: calexico - wash