Lately, it seems as if I have nothing good to say at all. I cannot even make conversation in the grocery store, like something has crawled up inside me and keeps eating the words before they can come out my mouth. I’m always a little unsettled and I have made up for this by adopting an excessive positive outlook on things. Mostly, because if I fed into the ideas turning in my head. If I used them for living and not only for writing. Then surely this whole world would swallow me whole.
I was having a hard time in the store today and I went and sat on one of those child rides where you pay a quarter and it jerks back and forth for a minute. I hardly fit and there was no one around, though there were people every where, buying things they don’t need or maybe do. Who am I to say? And I had the most startling feeling that I wasn’t actually there and that what I was living was actually a dream or a memory being had by myself years from now. Because the lights were too bright, and my chest was too thin, and no one in the place seemed to see me.
I think it has something to do with a dream I had last night in which I cried so hard I couldn’t stand up straight. And my mother and my mothers mother were both very young versions of themselves and they were trying on dresses. And in the dream my mothers dog had died but I could still see him. I woke up with a certain kind of unsettledness that I could not shake all of this day, and even still right now.
I read somewhere if you cook when you’re sad then the people eating your food will feel the same way. I just made the saddest coconut curried rice. Lately, I have been thinking about where I will go next. I keep seeing myself sitting on trains, falling asleep, and having dreams about today.