July 17th, 2004


I dream of pansies.

I dreamed I was at the mall. I had food and was wandering around looking for a table. Then I stood in line at an ice cream shop and talked to two strange girls about twinks in history. They wanted to know if I could think of any. "Philomen," I said. The girl nodded knowingly or maybe blankly, then asked who that was. My subconscious decided it was the name of Alexander the Great's catamite. Uh, no. Apparently it's an alternate spelling or an inversion of "Philemon" from the Bible, a name I don't recall ever seeing before, but which obviously signifies my need to be brought to the love of God. Actually, when I woke up, I confused it with "Philomela," which I thought meant "nightingale." The story of Philomela--well. Philomela was raped by her brother-in-law Tereus, who cut out her tongue, but she tattled to her sister, Procne, by weaving the story into a tapestry. Procne then killed Itys, her child with Tereus, and ran away with Philomela, Tereus pursuing them with his manly sword. Then the gods wandered along and turned Procne into a nightingale and Philomela into a swallow and Tereus into a hoopoo, whatever the hell that is. Itys was resurrected and turned into a goldfinch. The moral of the story being that we are all one step away from incurring the mercy of wild gods and being turned into pet birds. Anyway, in my dream, I did come up with Ganymede after that. And then got my ice cream and went to the dollar store where I saw a $69 lamp I wanted to buy, not long after which I woke up. Hello.

the weather in this square foot of seattle

I am in a weirdish mood, which is to say a good mood. I've had actual periods of happiness lately. I think the new combo of antidepressants I'm taking, along with exercise, is helping. I wish I was one of those people with a little black book, so that I could call up someone and have them take me on a date. I want to be taken on a date to a really nice, expensive Seattle restaurant with a terrific view of the bay and have someone pay for it all and then walk me around in the salty air, and browse with me in bookstores, and share a table for coffee, all the while trying to woo me back, to which efforts I'd reply, "Pgywoinah, I'm sorry, but I broke up with you because you always put your wet tumblers down on my paperbacks; however, I will sleep with you tonight." Pgywoinah, who is perhaps a Martian, then gives me many orgasms. Yay.

I think I may go take the underground tour of Seattle Monday. I've always wanted to do that.

Went back to working out today for the first time since getting sick--i.e., Tuesday morning. Was with my trainer, so that helped me get through it. Not so bad, though; better than I expected, and in fact I can do a proper plank pose now, which was not at all possible a few weeks ago. I was tired for a while afterwards, but am now feeling better. Upper. I don't want to write, though. I want to do something, something a little different. Perhaps involving food. Was reading through an old Seattle restaurant guide just now--rather food pornish. Usually I just want to go somewhere where I can sit alone with a book. Tonight I want company; I even want to dress up. For me that's downright eccentric. I'd go to this place I know down in Pike Place Market, but I don't particularly want to walk the return trip alone after it gets dark. Plus...it's like a puzzle piece not quite fitting. Sometimes I enter this kind of holding pattern where I can't decide what to do--too many options, none of them quite right, nothing nosing ahead of the pack and saying do me. The trick in that case is to choose something, anything, instead of playing FreeCell or heading to the couch to channel surf.

Good restless feelings, but nowhere to direct them. Quite yet.