Last night I dreamed I witnessed a brutal beating. Young men stomping on each others torsos and pausing between blows to get the right angle for the most damage. I was scared and with a couple of friends who were scared too and we were trying to walk past the scene undetected. But, I started crying. Loud and prolonged sobs of just straight-up, rocked-to-my-core sadness. I grabbed the chain link fence separating me from them and cried and cried until I woke up.
It’s scenes like this, subconscious interludes initiated by real-world stimulus, that I must believe in an apocalypse. I am readying myself to endure great change within this lifetime.
I met a guy last night who’s name I can’t remember because he was introduced by his nickname which is something like “wanleed” or “manscreed” or something. I couldn’t really tell if he was into the nickname or not and so I just left the space in my head where his name would go open to other possibilities. He had a lovely haircut. He ate macaroni and cheese with hot sauce and drank his own bottle of red wine. I had a bottle of white with a dapper horseman on the label. We sat at the bar with an extra stool between us and remarked that restaurants should install armrests between each seat, like the secret upholstered things that fold down in the backseats of most full-size sedans.
We talked about the cool possibilities of minimalist blogging:
Monday
I’m up.
Did not make bed.
Tuesday
Got up.
Fell asleep making bed.
Got up.
Did not finish making bed.
Wednesday
I’m up.
Did not make bed.
Thursday
Got second job so i can hire maid to make bed.
I went home thinking about clean sheets, naming conventions, and cheese plates.