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Sunday, 15 December 2013

Home and dreaming of SmTn

I've been home since Friday night. Friday itself was uneventful, except for the fact that I had to pay for transportation to the airport, even though aunt A had said they would be paying for it. I don't know why I thought I could take their word for it, but I didn't have enough cash on me that morning and I ended up fishing for it from my piggy bank. *sigh*

Be that as it may, I'm home. The weather is nice and cool, the food is great and I don't have the As or any of their madness. I've had to lie, telling people it's all good and pretending to be happy. The old man asked about the air conditioning unit, I suppose my sister mentioned something about it. He also asked about what it would take to finish a degree in philosophy, or literature, for that matter. Such conversations sadden me because they remind me of how stuck I am. Not that I wanted to bring it up in the first place, but it's that much harder to bring up the topic of therapy or maybe needing prescription drugs to treat depression.

I can't remember what else I've dreamed about since I got here, but this morning / last night I had a dream about SmTn. We were in the town where summer school was held. He was coming to see for the second time. For some reason, I was living with the As and still depended on them for lots if things. There were other young people around, though, and I half recognised one as the PhD student who gave up on Pf1. It was weird... SmTn's second stay was a less exciting one. I felt stupid for having opened three packages that had arrived in the mail for him. Two of them were his, while the third was a present for me: a video he'd put together years ago and whose name I can't remember. It had the air of a school project, presenting his point of view on subject and telling a story. It was a very nice gift, really. 

When he first visited, I had to ask uncle A to give him a lift to the airport. The second time, he wouldn't have it. We talked without being able to see one another, with him hiding in a fridge-sized box. I gather that was us trying to keep a distance after the breakup. After a while, I said I couldn't make out what he was saying and he came out, realising it was plain silly to hide like that. The conversation was still strained, though, and he felt distant. I only realised later that he had stayed much longer than he should have, risking losing track of his bags if he didn't get to the airport early enough. Just to be with me.

I remember hugging him, most likely the first time he visited. It felt so good... I couldn't smell him. It upset me a little because I wanted to have something to remember him by. After the second visit, though, I remember being on the plane with him. Then the dream took a turn for the crazy and spun off into a story where he was a spy and we were to sneak into an elegant Victorian era themed party at a fancy hotel.

I wish I could write him an e-mail... There's so much U'd like to tell him about... I miss him.

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