Bad dreams.

No more sour cream and a baked potato before bed. I just woke up from a too real to be true dream that M. and I were friends again, that he was giving me a bad time in a forest somewhere while I tested out a remote control car that I'd built.

That type of shit'll kill ya for sure.

More distance, the clearer you see things. I want my friend back, the one at the end of the hallway where I ran through light rooms and dark, doors opened and closed to throw myself into his sheepskin coated self after he'd been gone for weeks. I'd never been so loved on a January morning, sometimes doubt I will be again. Tendon and bone.

Some dynamic changed between us when I started putting on girl clothes and kept them on as more than an experiment. Oh, I never left the cargo pants behind, and my closet always has stocked more from the Men's Department at J.Crew than the women's. Let's just say my clothes started to fit better after he started dating L, part of a process that had started with glacial slowness in 2005. Even later when tensions would slightly lessen and I'd try and play around in the classroom with M., he would stand with his arms folded and narrow his eyes, refusing while balls of yarn danced off his head. He was trying to tell me something, but what?

Why didn't he want to play any more? He would play around with the other assistants in my room. Yes, I predicted a disastrous outcome to his relationship, but girls are girls and frankly the one he picked couldn't carry a relationship with handles and IKEA instructions. We both knew it- hell, he liked 'em semi-permanent that way. I was still the same underneath the clothes!

Maybe the change wasn't in my clothes after all. Maybe the change was when we came to words instead of hair pulling and kicking and cigarettes to resolve the only conflict we ever had, and the clothes came to fit. Talk about "You can't go home again"- If I had done like I should have at the time, kicked him in the balls and made an end of it and then stayed out of it, maybe we'd be in a forest somewhere playing with remote control cars.

What ifs. God, no more food before bed.

Why is it

that when I look my absolute worst, I get the most attention from men?

This has happened two or three times. I'll be out on an absolutely urgent errand- I'll have hair on my legs long enough to braid; the humidity will be 130% so the thatch on my head is frizzy; it'll be 130 degrees so you can smell me before you see me; I'll have walked right out of six hours of air conditioning so you could grease a cake pan with my face- in California terms, 'Tore UP."

Or, as Akealla the All Wise would put it, "Y'all a hot mess."

One of those days. To top it off, I drove home along Arabian Gulf Road with the window down. For some reason I have hair growing in at all different lengths, which gives me the look of someone who just rode home with the window open in high humidity when I actually stayed home and read. You do the math.

So I made it in to the Sultan Center, rounded up groceries I knew I'd be interested in eating at some point (I'm still not hungry) and blessed the Clerk with my appearance and Rewards Card. The fellow next to me in line looked like a linebacker, sort of cute, purchasing a chicken the size of a largish lemon. Hey, what there was of it smelled good.

The bagger could have been an ex-student, and he was having trouble deciding which bag the soap went in. As I tried to help him out, the fellow behind me said, "Excuse me? Miss?"
I turned. He leaned towards me, eyebrows working overtime, voice deepening for empasis. "Afternoon", he said slowly, making sure he kept eye contact as he leaned back.

Oh Jesus.

It's seven and I'm in bed

Funny thing is, since last Friday I've wanted nothing more than to do exactly what I'm doing now. Which is to sit around at home and finish several books. One thing or another has kept me out into the evening- Friday it was a Going Away party for the friend of a friend, Saturday was Horse Riding, Sunday was French, Monday was "Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses" and three hours of spicy gossip at another friends' place.

So today, I wasn't feeling well anyway. There was a dust storm for the better part of the day and my head did, does still, feel like a basketball sized snowglobe balanced on a daisy stem. I fulfilled my promise to myself, sat on the couch to finish one book. Then proceeded to pace up and down the livingroom for 45 minutes doing pointless busyshit, pondering going down the street to buy a lightbulb.

I ended the debate by crawling into bed with my computer, making my body remember how tired I am.

I'm actually sort of disturbed. I haven't been really hungry for anything for the past five days, so I've been forcing myself to eat. Historically, this means one of 5 things: 1. The weather is changing 2. I'm extraordinarily upset 3. There's a stomach bug working it's way through my system 4. I ate something bad 5. hormones.

Only two of the above are true- the first and the last. Changes from season to season are marked intestinally, and I spent weeks on arrival eating bananas. The last one- sometimes my body likes to "reboot"and I simply won't have a desire to eat for two or three days. My entire problem with this is that I really, really like to eat and the way things taste. So eating without much craving or desire, going through the motions, depresses me. I have plenty of stuff on hand and every type of fast food I could desire- but even the Barscz didn't interest me.

Been busy trying to book my summer holiday in Poland...more like trying to figure out how to get back to Kuwait from Poland, because direct flights thereunto do not exist. I think the best example had me rerouted through Munich and Heathrow both, at 22 hours into WAW from KWI. Maaaaah! It's six hours to Frankfurt from Kuwait! Flying to San Francisco is a shorter flight!

Eventually I asked a co-worker, who uses Czech Air and flies through Prague. I went to the site, and while Czech Air admits that Kuwait exists and they might land some planes there occasionally, they damn well aren't going to let you book a seat. Even when you try and do it in Czech.

S'alright, it's the same thing for Tunisia.

More complications in finding the perfect BFN spot in Poland. At first, because I couldn't find any. Now I have something like three websites and 600 places. Then a friend I haven't seen since Cracow in 2006, emailed me to let me know a third friend is back in Poland instead of Australia, and shouldn't we get together? Hell yeah.

Side note: was at horse riding lesson on Saturday, watched two women go ass over teakettle off their horses. I know falling off is par for the course, but I'm worried about when my turn will come. One of the women was on the horse behind mine.