Dreams and Sunflowers Shine on Pain

Dreams can feel exhausting. It was a longish dream, lots of anxiety. I went upstairs to the creep upstairs apt to see where the kitty litter was because in real life I awoke in the night to the smell of cat shit coming through the vents. Last year he put the litter right by the vent, it was torture. He was up there, in my dream and I didnt want to see him, true in real life as well. Some man was there, turned out to be yet another "new owner". He was mixed race, from Russia and kind of dapper, not that old. There was a woman living up there with a kid as well. She was Mexican-ish and very sweet. She was standing at a strange sink doing dishes in spent dishwater. I was shocked at the disrepair. A kitchen table had plastic sheeting coming down from the cupboards and draping over it with all the food on it. The ceiling on the other side of the kitchen was falling down and the floor was rotting away. I didnt get to see where the kitty litter was. The woman was lovley and she made me feel better by being around her.

My brother's high school picture in the background

Then  I was riding my bike and noticed a great green sculpture I had to climb. Turned out it was a giant sculpture of a tooth and I nearly fell off it more than once. I was grasping tiny indents to try and hold on. Below was traffic. The color fo the giant tooth sculpture was compelling and beautiful. Dark green flecked with shiny bits here and there. I was speaking on the phone with Daisy, advising her, as I have done countless times in real life, to take this opportunity and write. She makes 450 a week on EI and why would she consider anything else other than shutting the door to "job hunting" and all that and simply get on with it and write. Something came up about hte internet and I told her I would say anything there, I didnt trust the internet, the creeps spying and all the creepy time wasting shit they do.

I got back on my bike and rode down the street seeing many things from the upstairs apartment out on the street, all lined up along the sidewalk stretching out for a block, crappy things, black plastic furniture, meant to look leather, odd strange bits of used up items.

I rode to the next block and noticed I was in my horrible granny pants and an undershirt, both yellow, grey, dirty with age. Had I been going around like this all day? I had Gituku's fathers coat in my bike basket, Oh this is what I was wearing to cover up my underpants and vest. I was in the rain, trying to buy some papers at a Mexican restaurant in Gituku's fathers coat. The rain was like brownish sludge, more like mushy snow off the street, dirty and clinging to the shoulders on the coat. I turned around to go back, I didnt want to ruin the coat and basically wearing nothing under it. Then I turned back around, I was almost there, had come this far. I found the taqueria and went in. A woman was in the bathroom and came out. It appeared she had bulimia and that she worked there. I was grossed out and judgmental. The owners standing at the counter were not. She Had a gold criss cross weave on her nose to hide how much she had picked at her pores, which reminded me of myself. She was lovely to them. She was a wreck, but very sweet and I liked her. I woke up, it was cold. I had turned the heat way down so I would be bombarded by the smells. I turned he heat up.

 squirrels likely knocked this down-I brought it in to save and paint it

I called Gituku last week and left him a message to go fuck himself. It felt good to say it to him. Kind of like like going shopping in the store where the items are him ignoring me and all of that and my payment was a fuck you. It was like an exchange. He handed me his weird-liar-mean-cold-neglect and I handed him a fuck you. But I had left the store ages ago and forgot to "pay".

Then I found out it is not his father who died. His father is some Italian man, oh no wonder his favorite time in life was studying art history in Florence, of course he loves Italy. He is part Italian? I dont see it. So I called back and said I take back the mean fuck you I left him about 75% but yeah, still, fuck you, fuck off and fuck you.

In spite of all of it, I look for his car, I check my emails to see if he wrote. His sister said he wasnt worth it and I tell myself that but I bet he misses me, of course he does, so why so douchey?