Saturday was an interesting night. I actually had to call my therapist after hours and outside of a scheduled appointment. Jeez this raised issues but I reckon I was right in calling him. I take everything too personally in my life. Still the circumstances trouble me but it's about three hours later.
So I went to King Soopers, bought trash bags and Spot is in my lap kneading my fat gut.
I don't want to do anything more with my life or in my life. I just want to live my life and I have to understand that I've ruined many friendships and it's just going to happen again so I damned well better learn how to manage on my own.
Just like when I was at the garage last Saturday. I did mention it'd be nice to have a ride there and back but it was forgotten and I shrugged it off because it's expected, I'm not an important human being and people have their own lives. While I was waiting there for them to get the right part the second time around and reading my booky-books I found solace in the fact that I didn't rely upon anyone who wasn't directly involved in the situation. Had I moved to Montana and knew absolutely no one I would've ended up in the same situation.
I can't be bothered to give a damn. I run heptapod.org. It's my fucking place to vent and fuck all what anyone things when they read this trainwreck.
Now I'm going to take a single Vicodin, my nightly dietary supplements and go to bed.
The rest of the dream took place on a boardwalk at night. It is interesting, to me, to note that the ocean wasn't a factor in the dream. Prior dreams have always lent a menacing and predatorial aspect to oneiric manifestations of the planet's vast waters.
Someone I knew in the dream was way ahead of me walking up the boardwalk and I needed to catch up to them. Unfortunately they eluded me.
