Rarely do I have guest in my home without coming to regret it. My discomfort becomes more severe the longer the guests stay. As I’m shambling around my living area, searching for abandoned dishes I didn’t have the fortitude to clean last night, I’m reminded of this as both my sofa and my chaise lounge are occupied by militant squatters, desperate to remain in slumber as I crash, clatter, and clang about my morning duties. It isn’t their fault. I didn’t ask them to spend the morning sleeping on my living room furniture, but I did ask them to drink the whisky. It’s mostly in my head anyways.
I don’t feel very comfortable with people in my home for extended periods of time. I think it’s related to the fact that I have to wear some sort of a “Host Mask” for the duration of a visit and thus cannot become entirely comfortable. I’ve known people to proceed, in their homes, completely unbidden by invented codes of hospitality, but that just isn’t my frequency.
I had a dream last night that I was in prison. I was held responsible for the deaths of a couple of my fellow inmates. The strangest part of the dream was that the prison very closely resembled my university. I don’t really believe in dream symbolism as a signifier of anything in particular. If I had to guess, the prison in my dream looked like my university because I have been to my university. I’ve never actually been to prison. Being from California and spending a chunk of my formative years in the Central Valley (San Joaquin, specifically) I have driven past plenty of prisons, but have never been in one.
I usually write these around four paragraphs, but I think I finished my thought, so I’m just going to leave this here.