More randomness

The nights grow later and later before I drift to sleep. I feel like I have forgotten how to fall asleep. I had a dream a long time ago that I awoke on stage. There were hundreds of people staring at me. I sat up. Trying to orient myself to my surroundings, and there was one man with me on stage.

"What were you doing there?"
"Where?"
"There."
"I dunno. Sleeping."
"Sleeping?"
"Yes. Sleeping."
"What is sleeping?"
And I stared off into the crowd of people. All of them staring back at me with bags under their eyes, disheveled hair, waiting for my answer.
"You don't know what sleeping is?"
"No. But we have heard that word before." And I began to explain what sleeping was and why it is so important. And the man told me they no longer slept. They only worked.

I must have been in my late teens or early twenties when I had this dream. I always thought that even in that period of time where teenagers sleep inordinate amounts, I still thought about how it made me special. Like my slackeritude somehow would be recognized in the future as something remarkable.

The rest of the dream I taught this futuristic society how to sleep. How to let go and drift off into happy oblivion. Last night, as I stare at our knotty pine ceiling imagining faces of polar bears, and intricate bird's beaks, I tried to remember what I said. "Close your eyes, and let it all go. Stop holding on to consciousness." What a crappy sleep teacher I was.

:::

I am sorry if I have been a shitty commenter lately. I want to write something. I do read. But every time I write a comment, I feel like it is meaningless drivel, even though I mean it. I go back and think about erasing it. Then I feel stupid erasing it. I'm not sure if it is extreme self-consciousness, or just this feeling after I rounded the half year marker, that this journey, all its ups and downs, and curves and bumps is necessary, no matter how painful. I just feel so impotent. Like all the non-babylost people must feel when talking to us. I think about how people trying to fix me piss me off. I just want to be heard sometimes. I just want to have a witness. And then other times, someone says something that just changes my whole perspective, or gives me a new tool in my box.

Sometimes I just want to write on every blog I read. "I am here, listening. You aren't crazy and I love you."

:::

I have finally alienated everyone. I woke up yesterday thinking that. It seems like there is no way to find a medium in this brave new world. If I don't tell someone how they hurt my feelings with an errant comment, I silently stew on it, festering resentment and avoidance. If I do tell them, they feel like they can't say anything, and stop talking to me. Then I have to spend many emails trying to kiss their ass and be my friend again. It is all so exhausting.

:::

So, let's say hypothetically, if someone, or two, on the East Coast were to find a venue for something like what Monica is doing and organize a sort of weekend at a spa in Pennsylvania or New Jersey to hang out and get to know each other, like how many people would be interested in that?