<< : 2003-09-12 :: 11:52 p.m. : >>
A dream for the Insomniac

Here I am sitting if front of this computer, writing this entry again. Since the last time it didn't make it through due to some Computer difficulties. I don't know that I want to write that entry again. I hate repeating myself. How does it all go?

Well, I came upon this gorgeous picture, while cruising through the personal aides, which I sometimes do when I'm really sad. After one upon another, I found this picture, of a gorgeous man. While trying to think of all the reasons he would be on one of these things, I couldn't, not a sane one anyway. So I moved on thinking, well these things never make much sense to me anyway, they could all be psycho's. Was I that sort of girl? Why was it so shameful to be interested? However I found myself back at that picture, gazing at it as I'm sure most men Gazed at Playboy.

Before I knew upon the information that had already been drought down, I had assigned this picture a life a personality, that I of course foolishly adored. Yes, foolishly because even I knew that it was pretend. I had fallen head over heels for that gorgeous picture, for the simple little tidbits, that didn't even break ground into who he was. I was pulled though like a magnet to his eyes and that picture.

Of course with my fantasy have how he was, Brilliant and talented. Handsome and deep. Funny and Confident. He was a poet in my mind, and would make a great father someday. Than I started to think, the same self pity that I crawl into at the beginning of everything good. Did I deserve him, how could I, I wasn't anything special. My life was unorganized, controlled by fear, and having no great accomplishments. How could he want me? How could I do that to him, he deserves better than the mess that is me? I wanted to so much be everything he wanted, again I fell into the same train of thought that keep me miserable, alone, and sad.

I had made this picture into a gift, a Mona lisa, forsaking anything great about me. He was beautiful and I pictured him Vibrant and strong, what was I? What could I offer him? I made Him into Men's fantasy of Michelle Phiefer or Alyssa Milano. Making Myself Conan O'Brien, or Edward Scirror-hands!

I had hope from that picture and than terrible feeling of waiting for the shoe to drop. I had so much to do, so much to become, and yet I picture me and that man together, laughing and watching old movies. Eating Chinese food and making music until the wee hours of the morning. When I'd be gross and sick, He'd still love me. When I'm weird or difficult, he'd always hold my hand in pride. That was the dream though, he was the dream. I'd wake up to the reality of my awkwardness in the morning. Avoiding him, and all the feelings, I'd avoided having. I'm too afraid, that like all the others he won't want me, and I'll be nothing again. Ya the reality was much more bleak than the Fantasy of that Wonderful picture. I'd foolishly love that picture, and I'd hope the man would love me. I'm awaiting the answer to this dream........

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