I'm in a bad mood. I've again reached one of those points in the natural cycle of life when things (mainly little things) go wrong in domino fashion and I find that everything is irritating.
I would specify some examples, but right now I'm so irritable that the very thought of listing these mishaps is hateful to me. Perhaps part of the problem is that I recognize exactly how petty the mishaps are--or to what extent I deserve them--that makes them especially irksome ... i.e. I'm embarrassed I'm letting it all get under my skin.
It would not be entirely off the mark to blame much of my pissiness right now on money problems. I get paid tomorrow, but having just written checks for nearly all the bills that have been patiently awaiting this day, I will be left with hardly anything.
It doesn't help that there were auto insurance and county property tax to pay--or that, after spending $900 a few months ago to repair my car (for a problem, which I strongly suspect might have been solved for a couple of dollars), just before the holidays too, I postponed full payment on some of my bills in January.
The silver lining, of course, is that February is a short month.
But it's also a month in which a friend of mine has a birthday, and I find the fact that I'm unable to do much, if anything, to help her celebrate too sad to accept. (My friend expects nothing, by the way, so the disappointment is all mine.)
A further silver lining is that, just when my real life is tedious beyond words, my dreams have been little pockets of heaven. Not that they have been free of anxiety, though.
A couple of nights ago I dreamed Doris Day was trying to get me to go to bed with her. It wasn't out of lust, particularly. She seemed to be wanting to do it just because it would be a natural next step in what apparently had been a long friendship.
I agreed. We met at a large, modern hotel, and while she showered, I walked down to the lounge for a drink.
Then Dave showed up. (Note the preponderance of the letter "D," something I hadn't noticed until just now.) Dave was my best friend in college. We were fuck buddies, or, more precisely, we often (ok, daily) masturbated mutually, usually touching (ok, usually naked on top of each other).
The friendship with Dave ended badly decades ago, and this fact was no less true in the dream.
But in the dream, Dave had not aged at all. He was still tall, beefy, smooth-skinned, with muscular shoulders and arms, all highlighted nicely in a long-sleeved jersey that was perhaps a few sizes too small.
Dave convinced me to blow off Doris Day and spend the time with him--which I agreed to, but woke up worrying how I would kindly break the news to Doris.
And then, just last night, I dreamed that I joined a rock band. In the dream I was 54, and the other band members just in their twenties. Also, the dream did nothing to change the reality that I can't sing or play an instrument, but nobody in the band seemed to mind any of that.
The lead singer was a beautiful young girl with long hair--who sang a bit like Melanie, a bit like Janis Joplin. Pretty much everyone else in the band was dressed hippie-style circa 1970. I, however, was dressed in professorial tweed.
The boys in the band, besides being very young, were short and beautifully muscled, which they showed off by wearing their shirts open and wearing bead necklaces that accentuated their sexy collarbones and adam's apples.
Frankly, there's not much to say about this dream. The lead singer vocalized while the boys took turns giving me massages--apparently in preparation for our big gig that night.
Anyway, as you can imagine, I found the dream very entertaining.