Do you ever have dreams where a person morphs into someone else? Or you know it’s a certain person, but they look like someone else?
They’re so confusing. And I always wonder how a mind can be so determined to belive something, even when it’s obviously not true. Even in sleep, our minds have the power of trickery.
My dream last night consisted of a person, I still don’t know who to believe it was, or who my mind even thinks it was, because at different points in the dream, it looked like 4 different people.
It was my first ex-boyfriend, my brother, another ex-boyfriend, and a best friend who I am friends with no longer. Almost like my subconscious is telling me that all the boys/men I’ve had in my life have been so disappointing, that if you put them all together, they finally make one decent person. Like there’s only a quarter of decency in each. But I didn’t really need my subconscious to tell me that.
Last night, before I had this dream, I thought of something really good to say to someone who I don’t care for. Like when you think of a great comeback just a minute too late, and it’s not funny anymore. Only this was about a year too late, and though it may still hold true, I don’t have anything to do with it anymore.
Your lack of physical imperfection does not make up for the deficiencies in your character.
It may have caused a stir. But I find I don’t really care anymore. That part of my life is over.
I love the rain, but this constantly overcast sky is having a negative effect on my mood. A quick fix for this would be to go to San Fransisco for my birthday. But we all know that’s not going to happen. Tickets are ridiculously expensive, and even free tickets to a concert of a band I love don’t make up for it. I’m being sarcastic here. Of course it would be worth it to meet SB. To sing with them and maybe even score an interview with them for my radio show. But mom doesn’t agree. However, if it were a trip to Italy, 3 times more expensive and exclusively for her, she could “cook up the cash real quick” (her own words). I hate myself for even thinking like this. I’m lucky to have what I have. I’m lucky. And of course I’ll live without going. It’s just dearly important to me. And I wish my parents understood that.
My dad told me once, “I’m not trying to keep you in a box.” But when he won’t let me move out, when I’m not allowed to be anywhere else, when I have to stick to the house I’ve been living in for 18 years, it’s hard not to feel kept in a box.
Money is an issue. Of course, I do what I can. I have two jobs, one whose check goes straight to my tuition bill, one whose check goes to me so I can spend it on gas. Driving to and from school every day for a total of 45 miles and 60 minutes eats up my second paycheck entirely. More than entirely. It’s lucky that I have some savings to make up for the extra. From my second job, I get $50 a week. I have to buy a tank of gas each week, which costs $54-$56. I tell my parents this, and they just get mad at me. “Way to make me fee like a tight-wad, Kathryn.” You don’t have $5 extra dollars to give to me each week for driving to school (where you won’t let me live), but you can afford to buy a giant red Jeep for yourself, you can afford to take a trip to Boston in March, you can afford to take a trip to Italy.
Again, I hate myself for thinking this way. Am I a terrible person? Probably.
I’m going to try my best to cheer up. And to stop being a brat.