sad sex dreams

Oh shit, I forgot to tell you guys that I had a dream the other night that I was about to get fucked by Keith Ansell Pearson. Who the hell is that, you ask? He's some philosopher who <3 <3 <3s Nietzsche, Bergson, and Deleuze; he wrote a book called Viroid Life which I've never read.

So, in short, entirely random (I only recognize his name through citations and my Bergson anthology) and nonsensical-- there was nothing in my dream to make me know it was Keith Ansell Pearson (g-d knows I have no idea what he even looks like), it was just understood.

The history of philosophy as a kind of ass-fuck, indeed.

amalgamation (how do you spell that?)

The cans in front of me: Cream Ale, lemon-lime seltzer, Diet Coke.
The feeling in me? Good.
The thesis outline? Sprawling enough that I feel comfortable just working on it towards a quick end at a reasonable bedtime. It is, after all, only meant to be a 5 pg outline-- a motivational and organizational tool, certainly, but not much beyond that.

Gym class in less than 11 hours-- how inappropriate. I worked out today on my own which felt really good.

Overall I'm feeling so much more calm and in place about things, thank G-d. The light was spilling in through my window this morning when I woke up on 5 hours' sleep and I still felt so grateful. It's nice to have an altar at the head of yr bed.

And, I'm so excited to get to give myself a mini-break to go to the city to see my boyfriend and my again-departing friends and, at the end of it all, most likely get my first shot.

Moon's full in a couple of days; makes sense.

sending love--