ante diem xvi kalends july 2003 c.e. Dee came online tonight and we spoke briefly. She emailed me too but the email came across much angrier than our conversation which was civil and intimate. Once again I have mixed feelings and hope to at least straighten things out before I snap again. It has me feeling again that there is no way to meet in the middle, no common ground and I am vainly trying to get blood from a stone. It's against my personal beliefs to believe in any sort of romantic notion that there are gods up there keeping us apart especially when the evidence is so strong that she has decided and written in stone what she wants in her life and what she wants from those in her life. From my notebooks: June 26, 2003 Last night's dream affected me deeply. It happened after another dream. If you do not read any other dreams on this site at least read this one. I found a puppy in a pile of leaves and brought him home. The pup was white with black spots, like Spot, except his face was mostly white instead of having the Batman cowl like Spot. His face bore light blue sixes in a pattern on his face, growing out of his fur. The color could best be described as a non-repro blue pencil color. When I held him in my arms I had a feeling that I was holding the Pokey Little Puppy from the Little Golden Book because he felt so roly poly like a pup and feeling his small body in my arms was like feeling the emotion of joy. In my dream my apartment was a bit more spacious but still true to the real life layout of my apartment unlike previous dreams. Spot and the pup got along fine and they'd play a game where they'd try and escape only to get thwarted by the door being closed in the laundry room and their freedom only a screen door away from them. They'd lurk at the top of the stairs, waiting for me to go out then dash into the laundry room. Most times they were content to sit on the dryer and look out the window at the naughty birds and squirrels. When I came home later on during the dream I saw a white cat with ginger spots hanging around the backyard. Hiding nearby was a kitten with white fur and ginger spots. I figured they wouldn't get along with Spot or Six, the name of the pup, but I still wanted to bring them inside to safety even if just for the kitten's sake. Spot was easy to wrangle but the pup was more than a handful, always dashing around wanting to have the full run of the apartment rather than being content and locked up in my bedroom while the new arrivals stay in the living room and kitchen area. Eventually all the kids were inside, Spot and Six in my bedroom and the ginger cat and kitten in the living room. Maribou was at the door telling me that I really should pick up my gifts from the front porch before they got ruined by the thunderstorms. Gifts? I walked out to the front of the house. The trip was much longer than usual because the front yard was more spacious, full of bushes bearing tiny yellow flowers. The porch was also bigger, reminiscent to the porch of a southern mansion in the heyday of the Confederacy. PIled up and spread out on the right side of the porch were heavy cardboard trunks and old books. Everything was soaked from an earlier thunderstorm which made me feel very sad. The trunks fell apart as I tried to open them spilling small, metal framed daguerrotypes at my feet. The books were huge and must've been wonderful to read if they were dry and well-kept being so weighty with elegant, deep red covers. The books were the biggest loss. All of this was an analogue for my memories. Stuff I won't touch for fear of destroying it further. Stuff I can't touch because it's so ruined and it pains me to see it in such a condition. Stuff so old that it deserves to be a memory. I stood in the midst of the ruin of my nostalgia and felt my heart twist but no tears would come to my eyes. Everything is lost. The latter quarter or eighth of my dreaming had feelings of entertaining company. Cordial, not intimate, company. The kind where one is far more aware of their posture rather than the person sitting across from you and treating them like a human being because appearances are far more important in a situation where no one has common ground or shared feelings. I don't recall what happened to the cats or the puppy. Just before going to sleep and dreaming I spent ten minutes trying to capture a female spoink then levelling up a kadabra in hopes of it learning the calm mind move. Later I found out that I have to evolve a kadabra into an alakazam. I was busy trying to get everything in order to breed the ultimate psyduck. Breed a male alakazam who knows calm mind with a female spoink will get a baby spoink who knows calm mind. Calm mind increases the special attack and special defense traits of the user. Level up the spoink until he learns psychic and then breed that spoink with a female psyduck with the damp ability. The female psyduck has to have damp because that way the baby will have that ability rather than something different. Damp stops other pokemon from using what I call Palestinian attacks like selfdestruct or explosion which are devastating and usually can only be countered by using ghost type pokemon. Anyway once I hatch the psyduck egg I'll hopefully have a psyduck who knows psychic, calm mind and then I can teach the psyduck ice beam, ice attacks cover its weakness to grass type pokemon, and surf which is a water attack and gets same type attack bonus or STAB. Hopefully your eyes haven't glazed over from reading this or skipping the text. As my eyes became heavy I thought of myself as a god. All gods live on faith. Ambrosia and nectar are simply a way of mortals understanding faith. Without faith or their faithful gods starve and die or suffer the ignominious fate of obscurity. I live in a vacuum. One of my own device? One imposed by society? Perhaps blaming society is easier than blaming myself since it gets me off the hook and eases my guilt complexes while validating my feelings of anger, frustration and sorrow. I do not feel loved. And if I am loved then people are not in love with me. I feel like no one has any faith in me. Time and time again people have told me that I have no faith in myself. Whenever I say things like "After Dee, there's not going to be anyone else." or some other overly dramatic bullshit I'll hear that I'm full of shit. It's what I honestly believe and belief is the first step towards the poison of faith. Yet these people apparently have faith in me but I diminish their faith by asking "Is it their faith in me or their idea in who I am." Do I juggle or do I just look like someone who juggles? I don't want to look back on memories because you can't hug a memory, you can't hold a memory, you can't love a memory the way you can love someone for real or be in a situation. Memories are porcupines. Memories remind me of what I don't have right now. Of course it feels like all I have are memories. Happy memories of logging in and finding that a $room has been renamed to "Golden Sands" because of the song Somewhere Beyond the Sea. Talking with folks on a regular basis and on their terms rather than pestering them relentlessly for an audience or some manner of validation. Talking to someone on their time and on their terms is always best because that's when I know I'm not invading their personal space or impinging on boundaries. I'm like an old fashioned vampire in that regard because even if I know someone like Brian to the point that I don't have to fucking knock because mi casa es su casa I'll still knock and wait to be invited in. At least I don't have to sleep on the dirt of my homeland at night. Having Brian's company and commisserating and understanding each other because we're beyond judgement since we earned that. My father's presence and feeling happy and less anxious rather than being far away from him and feeling like a leech and a betrayer. Kinja, yes Kinja. Not just because she's recently decided to reach out to me again. The little things like how we're both Italian and Polish, born in the same state with similar experiences while growing up and basically the same values other than her mistake with Islam which is forgivable even though it took two towers to drive the point home. How when we weren't at each other's throats it'd be relaxed and content. Also the sex but I mention that last for fear of being a pervert. The fellowship of my gaming group which was reinforced by my return in May. For one brief and shining moment I thought that I had found everything out here in Colorado to make me feel that my life is complete to my standards when I saw Siggy for all of two or three weeks last year but that end badly. Now? Now I have my Wednesday and Thursday nights with the Birds. Being stupid in #jerkcity on EFNet. Spot. Reliable work and income. A simple life of routine but I am far from being happy and I only have myself to blame for not being happy as much as I want to blame Dee for not wanting to come out here and being "her way", feeling like I can only come up on Wednesdays and Thursdays, having run away from home and my friends, never really going out or knowing where to go to meet people beyond the work environment, the lack of games listed at the bulletin board at the Compleat Gamer. I reckon I'm a pessimist and I do everything to validate my pessimism.