Edit: I take it back*

This morning was nice but now I feel like I’m in media-central and all I want to do is insulate myself from it, from the bombardment that is the world today, the internets today.  I visited Bookworm only to find myself clicking on this woman’s book about her Mom dying of cancer — Amazon’s “surprise me” viewer, which I admit I love, took me straight to some near-death scene and I took a deep breath and clicked away.  Last night I was rereading through the journal I started in January, almost half full already (is that all?  it seems there should be pages and pages more), full of reminders and dream-reminders to be very careful about what I take in, something I am already forgetting.  Remember, please.  Insulation, please.  I have already cried today and it’s only been two hours.  I have my headphones on while I write recruiting emails, but am not listening to anything…I can still hear too much of my coworkers.  Timeshare in Barcelona!  Barbeque sandwich!  Female shriner!  Screaming baby!  Get out of my brain!  Let me just find something to listen to…

Okay.  Last night I dreamed…shit, I can’t remember the first part anymore.  The second part: Kristin and I are walking down the street toward her house.  It feels vaguely southern Californian, but the dream is themed like India.  We pass by a car in a driveway that is absolutely gorgeous: topless, so polished and shimmering its color looks almost liquid, a very light silvery turquoise with a light-colored smooth interior and shiny shiny edges.  We totally lose it over how cool this car is.  I exclaim over its name and that doubly excites us,  it has an awesome name in silver letters on its back, some Indian word that starts with a B instead of the usual (to us) Americanized P.  Then we are in her house…Adriane (IRL Rachel’s friend) is coming down the stairs wearing black, I rather dismiss her.  Kristin and I are lounging on her bed, big and white.  I take her hand to exclaim again and adore her nails — her hand is a small slender brownskinned hand, with these longish delicate fingernails painted with that same shimmery-shiny-fluid color, painted sparkly tangerine orange.  Around us there is some kind of kitchen scene, with  cupboards and spices.


1538, “make into an island,” from L. insulatus (see insular). Sense of “cause a person or thing to be detached from surroundings” is from 1785.
*Some media inundation is nice.  Sweet Scandanavian girl-blogs, for instance.  Can’t read your language = charmed, I’m sure!

~ by Arrrow Marie on March 18, 2009.

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