https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/07/can-an-unloved-child-learn-to-love/612253/

Here, in tje the midst of second puberty,

I think it's not so much that I am afraid of what's happening to my body and brain as I wish I knew what was going to happen...

As it is, presbyopia is reaching further away and sitting in the vehicle can go from "reading comfortably" to "dashing for woods deeply secluded enough to prevent further embarrassment or citation" simply by turning one's hips.

There are times when I dream and I understand why I experienced the random surreality that I did - either some environmental some influence (like falling asleep to podcasts) or some specific anxiety that has occupied my consciousness (needing to memorize something, grading papers...or whatever other thing I wanted to do).

Then there are others that are less accessible...

Just now I dreamt about the only person I'd proposed to (on the cusp of two decades ago, on-then-off). This is not a new thing. There was a great deal of detail this time and in a context that I am very mich not in.

We were in an 80s future-vision office bullding lobby (seemed like). We were having a discussion about "what happened", but in a non-direct, lyrical, theatrical way (ideas, not production numbers). 

I have already waited too long to be able to type specifics of the conversation (this happened...an hour ago?), and I really wish I could. Basicslly it seems to have been an expression of how our communicstion went (to me): she saying something in short bursts that wasn't conveying and my saying things in long volleys.

What seemed different is that some real "why" seemed to come out of it. Or, at least, me specifically saying how I felt. Then right when I was about to lay some great point bare, I had a sudden diarrhetic expulsion and started for a nearby restroom while still finishing a point, trying to keep "it" as contained in my drawers as possible and hoping no smell or spot was yet apparent. The rest trailed off in to typical dreamy mistiness as I searched for a stall im thus huge, stainless, steel restroom that seemed to have been built without stalls. 

What struck me was how specific, detailed and non-dreamy it was up to that point. I could see closely the quality if her skin, micro-fine facial hairs, slightly sun-tinted conjunctiva of the eye.

I was wearing khaki slacks and a polo...which I haven't done with regularity in a fairly long time.

It's interesting how, regardless of the dream, whatever the climax is seems to be the point at which the startling realism seems to suddenly stop. Or wane. Or dissipate. And the potential answer (or desire?) ... or resolution... slip away.

therr may have actually been a shift in location...or maybe it just looked different from different angles...but it seems like it was more intimate beginning, and then less at the end....enhancing embarrassment....

(shrug)

I guess life sucks when you don't get to say what you want to.

{i was dreaming before i wrote this, so sue me if....}

(uhm..what is this?)