As A Painted Ship On A Painted Ocean: Day Two Hundred Seventy-Two


Oh, well, somehow, someone told the new editor to get itself a word counter at the bottom and with that I’m perfectly happy to use it.

Here we are, it’s Saturday, doing our damndest just to stay calm despite all the caffeine I’ve drunk. Today has really thrown me.   After an odd dream, a dream that verged on lucidity and featured one of the recent cache of lovelies, I woke up in a daze. The dream boy is a boy who’s at least talked to me, and has been mentioned in this blog before, even (going back a year) and who has been around recently, not promising at all by rational folk, but those of us who traffic in dream speak and dream plans, found a great deal in our interactions to generate an imaginary passion. Is that a polite way of putting it?  Or am I too vague?  On the way to work, a panic, intense, but then corrected, ignored.

Once I arrived at work, sunglasses on and coffee in hand, there he was, enlisted by current boss to rearrange her office.  My. Community Service and another volunteer were engaging in the strenuous pursuits of hauling desks and chairs and filing cabinets cheerfully and they worked around me while I listened and tried to both reinvent and stay well away from the activity the dream described.

It did, of course, completely fuck up my attempt to organize my own workspace, to focus on anything at all.

I hurried back to fix my makeup in the restroom (to little avail) and then I slid in the small space left for me to reach my desk.  And again, without a moment to plan or premeditate, there was a moment of brief, but intense eye contact.  Just a bit longer than I could acceptably allow myself to question whether or not it was anything, just enough for everything to flutter like we both felt a cool breeze at the same moment, and start to smile, sheepishly, before I realized I couldn’t possibly let him believe I thought it was acceptable for me to try and flirt with him.  Me, such as I am.  He said my name, lightheartedly without having to be reminded of it, and said I was next. For rearrangement.  I said, oh, sure, eventually…and turned back to my computer. and back to watching and listening and not doing anything about anything.  Feeling oddly envious of my pretty, good-natured boss who could ask these men to do this work and talk to them without feeling as though anything gilded the words, to get to be with him and just be.  To be able to spend long enough in waking life to justify last night’s activity in Queen Mab’s realm.

But the laundry is getting done, even if it means that I’m getting home late and I have a huge swathe of work to do and if I can get my mind in order, the capacity to do it.   A little sleep, a little pain, and straight back up to start again.

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