Day 314 (Recall) DGAF

I had a dream.


Nah, not that kind

I had this dream that I was back at my university, pursuing a higher degree... which my dream -elf panicked about because, well, I was working tonight, and how could I pay for all this and work at the same time when my college was 300 miles away from my hospital??? I was somewhat aware that this was a completely farfetched reality, but, aside from semi-reliving my old college days, I dreamt that I was with my ex and, like we used to, we were essentially shacking up and fornicating together in my old dorm.

...and then I woke up. And I realized that, as happy as dream-me was in said dream, real-awake-me, didn't really give a fuck that none of it was real. I am acutely aware that the happiness of dream-me was reveling in the joys of being with my ex when we were at our happiest. And you would think that being awoken (by my mother shouting at my sister to move my car) from such a pleasant sensation would jar some kind of an emotional reaction from me, that the simple mirage of a memory would manage to dig up something deep and raw inside of me and bring it to the surface like a festering, infectious wound. But... real-awake-me just can't find it to be sad, to regret, to wish that I could have that happiness with this person again. It's just... not there.

Gio once confided in me about my ex, waking up and feeling physically nauseated over the thought of me fucking someone else entirely. I digress, he might've been lying or overexaggerating to make me feel better, but the thought hit me as I dressed for work: I didn't care. I woke up from this dream of happiness and joy that literally slipped through my fingers...and didn't feel even a sliver of an ache because of it.

(I once asked the Baby about her first great love and how she could've moved on from something that we'd all thought was going to be the only relationship in her life. She told me she stopped loving him, "From the moment that he said he wanted to see other people." The idea was crazy to me: to stop loving one person when they'd previously been your life. But now...not so much)

And while before, it always felt like there was this gaping black-hole about to suck out the reality in which I existed...

now, it's more like a drain, letting out the dirty pieces of me so I don't wallow in it anymore, so I can breathe and move without resistance...

I, genuinely, truly, madly, deeply don't give a fuck. And I do realize the irony of writing an entry on how much I don't care. But... it's just funny. A small part to me thought that, despite my own declaration of moving on, I'd still feel something, hell, anything about losing someone I loved... even in an abstract form. But I don't. And I don't feel bad about it... or good... or anything.

And I have to laugh just a little. Because a moment like this is really what I used to hope for and part of me isn't quite sure what to do now that it's here.

Written 10.8.11 (but more like a really, really late 10.7)