I had the strangest dream last night. Bear with me for a moment.
You and I and the rest of the usual suspects were in this huge, loft-like house, with 12-to-15-foot ceilings, and giant appliances and cavernous rooms and floor-to-ceiling modern-looking cabinets everywhere. The fridge alone was like 7 or 8 feet high, and there were maybe three separate kitchens in the house. It was like a showroom, except I lived there. Of course, I was trying to get unpacked and settled in, and everyone there was helping or keeping me company or getting ready for the party. Surpringly, the whole thing seemed sane, not too frantic.
Von was in the kitchen with Gee, and you and I were talking on the couch, when you took me by the shoulders and kissed me. Soon after, you got your coat and went out to run some errand for the housewarming party.
Surprise surprise, my subconscious thinks the house is huge and overwhelming. (To be fair, some really bad things have happened, like the bleeding delivery man, the electrical mess-up, the sewage overflow and the mis-installed fridge.) And I've been frantic and cranky and sensitive, and I want people to help me and support me with everything. But maybe I've been more difficult with you because I'd like to date you and you don't seem to feel the same, and so I was disappointed. And so I act badly sometimes, and so I'm sorry.
I don't want this to be bad for our friendship, so I'll sack up. But the house will continue to be crazy-inducing for a while, so I can't promise to totally chill.
Get home safe, see you soon.
...And that, my friends, is what I sent to the Lumberjack last night to get this stalled vehicle moving. Whether it's the death knell that brings the tow truck, or the jump start that starts us purring down the road, I don't care. I just want to move on.
And yes, I really did have that dream. Maybe I'll sell the house?