Today, thus far, has had a bad taste.
����I woke up late this morning. I might be wearing clothes that I dislike, as I feel at odds with something. Walking to work from the subway I felt exposed and the sun shone on me too brightly. I wish I had noticed the people around me; there's always the chance that I'm reacting to someone nearby. I walked into the building on Franklin Street and headed for the elevator. "Sir! Sir!" one of the men at the desk called out when I bypassed the card-swiper thing on the way. That's one of the main things of his job, but I noticed how much I dislike that tone.
����I recalled from my dream when I awoke: a beautiful woman who was under the impression that she and I were starting a relationship, the sex portion of which was beginning now; and Jim treating me graciously after I invited him to meet me on Cape Cod and then didn't show up.
����The woman was blonde and model-y, with long limbs and a golden face. It was a bit suprising for me to even be near such a person, and in such an intimate situation. During the conversation she had her pants off--which she had done and didn't seem to mind even after I'd halted her touching and said a bunch of words that put her whole situation on its back. This was in a dorm room in a dark part of New England.
����Intervening in life with words can be tedious, and neither is preventing imminent sex all that great. Luckily, the dream's other episode was kind of the opposite (though I remember it only loosely):
����I left a note for Jim asking him to meet me on Cape Cod in a week to go surfing. Then I loaded up a small brown station wagon and drove west. I don't know if the part with the woman was before this trip or during it. I don't know why I forgot to drive back to the Cape. I have no idea what I even did on the trip. When I saw Jim next it was a few months later and half the night passed before he mentioned being stood up. I could see him clearly: driving from Boston out to Truro, waiting, finally asking around, an old woman telling him I wasn't coming, leaving the woman his car and hitchhiking back to Boston. Somehow Jim was okay with this and we had a nice evening.
����Recently I engaged someone in a public place, had a personal three- or four-minute conversation, and then left, apparently without feeling it necessary to introduce myself. I later judged this "unsociable" and regretted its implications: 1) that many of our cultural refinements (dressing nicely when possible, knowing how to sew, spelling correctly, etc) are being abandoned, and 2) that I'm even less likely to make new friends than I thought. It's been argued that I'm taking too hard a line on this, but today the person from whom I bought a sandwich carelessly threw half an onion in it. Of all things, sandwiches should be made properly and carefully, or not at all.
����Man, what a way to be. I hope tomorrow offers a fresher reality.
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