blank blank fullness

Dear _______ (blank),

I thought about writing you the whole way home tonight. It started somewhere around that really expansive part of the FDR where the road takes a big curve to the left and the river hugs in to the right, and you've got an open view of the Empire State (all white now) and the Chrysler and that funny building with an isosceles triangle for a hat. That part always gets me excited about the city. Just that part. Flying driving and boom, beautiful skyline, you can feel the cars respond with the woosh in the road. Somewhere around the bridge I got in the mood to write again, like I did back when. Then you're ahead of yourself, and all these ideas come tumbling out in perfect succession and you're stepping harder on the pedal to slow the thoughts down before you're before a place to jot, jet. Then someone threw their cigarette out their window and it freaked me out, like always. I always picture some freak accident of physics happening where their loose cigarette, still lit, bounces into my tailpipe and sparks, ignites up in there somewhere, exploding the whole car and me along with it. One little spark and boom, MacGruber, I'd be gone and then this letter couldn't come out. That's what I worry about. Dying and not being able to write this letter. Not dying and leaving behind friends and family and a life not yet lived out. No. Just dying and not getting home tonight to let this out because those friends and family aren't around (I tried. Called two of them, no dice.) and when you start thinking, "I wouldn't mind someone to just talk to and tell all this random stuff to and have them listen and then I'll listen back" you start to think you really do need that, not just want it, but need it. So you call. Or start a narrative to no one in particular, to blank.
It's not like I can't be alone. I love being alone. But lately I feel like all we do is work. Work, work, work and relax at home in our own worlds before we pass out for a few to get up and go again. And that's fine, and maybe I'm just having a bout of cryptomnesia (which I analyzed in the car) where I internalized a horoscope I read today which told me rekindling friendships and spending time with friends would be something I might yearn for today, and then spit it back out thinking it was coming from my own original source. I don't know. Maybe. Regardless, we used to all get together for some QT without our phones and laptops open and heads in 3 worlds at once. We all used to get together and BE together. In a room, with some tunes and some wine or food or tea or whatever and really spend time together. Maybe play some cards. Or get into fights where packets of oatmeal would be thrown really hard until they burst. Ha. And the simplicity of each others company was enough, we didn't need added cushioning of extra media to make time around others comfortable. When did that happen? How did that happen? Us getting so dependent on our second identities in the matrix that it makes interactions face to face, hm, I don't know, strained. Strange. Eh, maybe it's just my imagination.

It's like I'm stoned or something, tonight. I used to be, often, when the words would align right up in a stream and flow out sans inhibitions. Just being honest. But I havn't been since before that time between May and June when things got rearranged, some kind of automatic psychotherapy to clean that little part up. But I still dream about it, let me tell ya, and a nervous dreaming. How am I gonna get neurotic in my sleep? I used to never care this much about not doing something. But the funny part is that in waking life, there's nothing to it, I can take it or leave it and I just leave it.
That and nervous, worse-possible-outcome dreaming about being late to a class and getting in trouble. I am chronically late. It's terrible. My sense of time is a little warped. I'm workin on ittttt. What's the saying? "#IT'S A PROCESS"?
I've rarely had recurring dreams but I figure I'm really dealing with some sh*t inside there for these things to continually be brought up. Dark stuff. Joints and tardiness. Jeez.

It's a trip to get on the other end of something you love. Where you break it down into its parts to be able to put it back together in order to understand it fully, so you can pass it on to others with the how, why and where behind the instruction. Honestly, it can take the fun out of it, being on this other end. Receiving the transmission feels great and you just turn in, tune in and take it. Giving it can be so exhausting. Because you're also trying to take it in, as the giver and as the receiver, like, what are they feeling? Is this flowing? There must be some seamless level where giver and receiver are no longer separate. I'll let you know when I get there. I'm still digging my heels into confidence and projecting my voice with authority, that way responses are firmer and I won't think they hate me or don't trust me when I'm giving them instructions on how to move. It's weird, I know. Wish I could take my own class...

I mentioned the power of auto suggestion tonight. Had them all in a standing balance. Wobbling. "Bring strength into your standing leg with your suggestion of stability." I think that convoluted advice just distracted some people and they lost their balance. Ha. Shit. One. Day. At. A. Time.

But really. Auto-suggestion. Get familiar. I'm not going to 'testify!' but I'll say, it's magical.

And we could all use a little magic in our lives.

Signing off with so much more I had but got left on the road somewhere.


<3,
Fullness