secret motel

I had a dream, last night, in which I went to a job interview at some office. The office manager was in desperate need of someone to handle all their shipping. I projected confidence--something I rarely do in real life. I even processed a FedEx shipment for them on the spot. They didn't have an account, so I paid for their shipment with my credit card. I wondered if they were going to reimburse me but decided the minimal cost would be worth it, if I got hired. I was about to leave when I was greeted by Anne (I know Anne in real life. She worked in my office maybe five years ago. She's a very pretty lady and was always consistently friendly with me. I still see her from time to time; her office and gym are in the neighborhood I pass through when I head downtown after work. We'll smile and say hi in passing). She seemed happy to see me and hugged me. We stood there and held each other, late-afternoon light through high windows. It felt so real--the firmness of her back, the softness of her hair, her breasts pressed against me. We did a kind of dance--a slow, circular shuffle while still holding each other.

The dream lingered in my head all day. I looked online for any news of Anne. It seems she was recently married. All this sadness washed over me, as I headed home, thinking about those who have entered and exited my life. They grow and change--and I stay the same.

I wanted a drink so bad, this evening. But I'm being good. I haven't had any alcohol since that brief--but scheduled--dismount from the wagon the weekend of October 6. And I didn't indulge very much before I decided to reclaim my status as a wagoneer. Now the idea of continuing to abstain for the rest of the year is forming in my head. The holidays could make it a rough ride. I love the winter, but I hate the holidays. God, I fucking hate the holidays. Every year. Every goddamn year. I don't want to celebrate anything. I don't want to grieve over anything or anyone. I just want to maintain a private state of peace and tranquility and enjoy the random visit and embrace of familiar strangers in dreams.

I just might do this sober, this year. Maybe. And really fucking feel it. I have momentum, you motherfuckers. I have velocity. I have a grim resolve.