I had a dream this morning about ordering cardboard from a vendor, and then finding, somehow, a report or internal document or something from that vendor that complained about and mocked my participation in this transaction. My response in the dream was a kind of angry glee. That, I think, is the revealing and embarrassing part: I liked it.
But after the righteous anger faded, because there was nothing to be angry at, because it was a fucking dream, I was left with an empty space where that feeling used to be. I still kinda felt like I'd been criticized, but not in a way I could respond to, because it didn't actually happen. And now, as if I need to justify this feeling, I am calling up all the critical voices that linger in my memory. I am inviting every accusation, the fair and the unfair, over to my place for drinks, so we can reminisce about old times.
Part 2: Hush
There is a game that keeps coming up when I blog surf about gaming and social justice, an indie, definition-bending game called Hush. I want to play. But it starts with an empty text box and this directive:
And I can't do it. I start by writing about sex, but that's too easy and obvious and wrong. Sex =/= intimacy. And then I try to write about some other experience of intimacy, but I can't think of one that feels right. The more I look through my memories, the less I know what I'm looking for, until I think that I have no idea what intimacy is or what it feels like.
Part 3: List
I'd like to see someone make a list, a la McSweeney's or the fun page of the DI, except instead of "Porn Star name or Vin Disel character?" it's really, really obvious. Like, "Sylvester Stallone movie or Babysitter's Club book?"
1. Boy-Crazy Stacey
2. Logan likes Mary Ann!
4. Claudia and the Sad Goodbye
5. Rambo III
6. Demolition Man
Part 4: Away
I want to be somewhere else. I want to be someone else. I want to drive somewhere that no one knows or expects anything from me, where nothing means anything and I don't have to live with anything that happened another city, another life, away.
I can't do that, so I put on Hedwig and the Angry Inch in the car as I drive to Gilbert and back. I play it loud enough to stop thinking.
(Babysitter's Club book: 1,2,4. Stallone movie: 3,5,6.)