My dreams are my own. My dreams are asking me to walk through places of possibility to get to them. They tell me to finally, after all of these years, to honor my own real self so I might touch them.
I mentioned on Facebook today that I’ve replaced the idea that “I’ll never learn,” with “I’m being more cautious,” and that this is a problem still. In some situations it’s still too fine a line.
There are people who just don’t care. They tell you they do and if you believe them, you’ll end up poorer, sadder, depleted, poisoned. A friend told me that. Poisoned. It’s true.
I must learn to maintain a serious No Contact rule. This time will be different. No. It won’t.
No matter how safe I feel, or am beginning to feel, there are some people who simply aren’t safe for me.
I was trained up to be too accommodating.
It’s caused a world of trouble for me.
Over the last several years I’ve made strides in the fuck-you areas of life but I still have a way to go.
I need to repeat, Hey, fuck you. Have a nice life but fuck you. That’s all.
It’s that simple.
I’ve got to get back on that raft and wave bye bye.
There are no rivers in the desert except the places where the Mojave River flows above ground. There are rivers underground.
But tonight I feel like I could get onto a raft in Hermosa Beach and drift all the way to Japan, thinking about those dreams. Drawing closer to them.