Uh-oh...I'm awake
It was too many hours ago that I started awake. A dream-vision (nothing akin to my dream girl, by the way) had touched my knee in a provocative way and pointed a finger toward what she described as a "Gentleman's Entrance" to an upstairs watering hole. I was seconds away from devining her motives when a guilty (or self-preserving) part of my psyche shoved me into the land of of the waking.
That's a big part of my problem, I think. I have such a fear of straying from what is commonly regarded as decency that I have a hard time fantasizing or dreaming about a life less ordinary. Don't get me wrong...the concious writer you are reading right now believes there is little excuse for acting on certain fantasies of that less ordinary life. However, I would think that "healthy fantasy" spells out its own definition.
While you may read this as the lament of a late 20-something sexual malcontent, that's not exactly what I'm talking about. While recognizing and appreciating the role of sexuality in our society (and appreciate it, I do), my larger issues deal with fantasy of another sort. I have a hard time envisioning myself in a public role other than that which I have not-so-carefully crafted for myself. That is to say, I'm a bit handcuffed to the idea of maintaining strict responsiblity for what falls under my jurisdiction. That means earning a steady--if quite small--paycheck and making sure the bills are paid on time (which by the way, I'm late on one right now and it is eating me alive).
Nonetheless, there are times (usually just before I start longing to fall into that rarely blissful sleep of the fantastic dead) that my brain allows me to consider new venues, new paths, new destinations. I usually have a hard time sleeping after that. Dreams of coitus interuptus are almost welcome after three hours spent watching the LED read-out of my much-too-bright clock.
Life pitter-pats toward purpose, I suppose. However slow it may be, I suppose I should learn to live with the idea that I may, indeed, have to be a man of my own making instead of a creature of destiny. I prefer destiny, though.
And I'd like to think that girl in the dream...you know, the one touching me and pointing to doors unknown...I'd like to think her name might be Destiny.
And if not...maybe Pebbles.
How's that for disjointed?
It was too many hours ago that I started awake. A dream-vision (nothing akin to my dream girl, by the way) had touched my knee in a provocative way and pointed a finger toward what she described as a "Gentleman's Entrance" to an upstairs watering hole. I was seconds away from devining her motives when a guilty (or self-preserving) part of my psyche shoved me into the land of of the waking.
That's a big part of my problem, I think. I have such a fear of straying from what is commonly regarded as decency that I have a hard time fantasizing or dreaming about a life less ordinary. Don't get me wrong...the concious writer you are reading right now believes there is little excuse for acting on certain fantasies of that less ordinary life. However, I would think that "healthy fantasy" spells out its own definition.
While you may read this as the lament of a late 20-something sexual malcontent, that's not exactly what I'm talking about. While recognizing and appreciating the role of sexuality in our society (and appreciate it, I do), my larger issues deal with fantasy of another sort. I have a hard time envisioning myself in a public role other than that which I have not-so-carefully crafted for myself. That is to say, I'm a bit handcuffed to the idea of maintaining strict responsiblity for what falls under my jurisdiction. That means earning a steady--if quite small--paycheck and making sure the bills are paid on time (which by the way, I'm late on one right now and it is eating me alive).
Nonetheless, there are times (usually just before I start longing to fall into that rarely blissful sleep of the fantastic dead) that my brain allows me to consider new venues, new paths, new destinations. I usually have a hard time sleeping after that. Dreams of coitus interuptus are almost welcome after three hours spent watching the LED read-out of my much-too-bright clock.
Life pitter-pats toward purpose, I suppose. However slow it may be, I suppose I should learn to live with the idea that I may, indeed, have to be a man of my own making instead of a creature of destiny. I prefer destiny, though.
And I'd like to think that girl in the dream...you know, the one touching me and pointing to doors unknown...I'd like to think her name might be Destiny.
And if not...maybe Pebbles.
How's that for disjointed?
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