The virgin in me

I even write in my dreams to give myself little indicators of where I am and what is real and physical. When my room was flooded with dirty rainwater, I realized that it wasn’t real; it was the inner struggle to resist temptation – a sense of foreboding that unpleasant things would occur—those kinds of things make you feel alive and less isolated. But by succumbing to them, I know I’ll be jeopardizing something of value.

And not just that, I will be placing myself at the centre of past mishaps from which I haven’t learned anything.

As far as the dirty opaque rainwater is concerned, they only reached my foot anyway, and then, I woke up. Too chicken to face the real part of what matters – as always.

I felt angry about running away from another lucid afternoon nap. It seems that my cerebral function is most active during daylight, but I can’t say that it’s less operative during the night. The production of rod cells in my eyes provides me with night vision within my dreams even. It’s all been darker and more blurry than ever lately. Does it have anything to do with hemispheric control?

They say men are primarily dominated by the left hemisphere, which is driven by aggression and desire. In contrast, women are right-sided, meaning that the balance and stability of their mood, perception and movement are easily at stake.

Either the waves that my lobes submit are all over the place, or I’m merely a ghost doing things my way.

The fun thing about self-therapy is that you can tell yourself everything – no matter how wrong or right you are. You can be full of shit, and it doesn’t matter. Discipline will come once you’re determined. You’ll stop feeling scared.

You want someone who is not like you. If they don’t understand you, the better it’ll be for your well-being because there is no need to talk about anything. I think this is the key to happiness for which I’m due. This must be why I hate my friend. I thought I hated her for having changed her behaviour towards me, but the truth is I hate (envy) her for the life that she is leading, a life I don’t intend to live in the next ten years. I have this life to live first before even considering settling down.

This virgin in me is still lusting after other types of emptiness that she feels need feeding. When you feed emptiness with the right words, you have to serve them warm and slowly. The temperature is the equivalent of the immediacy of the mind. Once cooled down, they are less effective. Think of the vividness of a dream fading away when you stop believing it’s real. It’s a shame that dreams don’t dispel a guilty conscience; they rub it in your face by projecting an image onto your mind’s screen.

I’m finding it difficult not to rest my eyes during daylight. And yet, I have to control the anger and think about the consequence. I mean, it worked fine with my mother. I controlled myself well, and thus I’m without regrets. The reason is that I love her and I know she’ll do anything for me. It’s not easy to apply this strategy to everything else because not everyone will do everything for me. And if they do, I will not want them.

I have decided to talk less about it. I still have time to confront it. Do you know why fictional serial killers like Dexter or Pat Bateman are incredible? – They don’t feel a thing. Or at least they don’t think they do. And no matter what I do, I can’t create a character like them because I can’t be what I’m not. And I’ve been longing for that sort of disconnection. (What, I want to be a sociopath?)

And despite the tendency to fantasize about retaliation, I don’t use people as I should. Besides, I don’t ask for favours, yet I do favours reluctantly. What is it that people really see in kindness? Kindness is a mask.

I’ve been so preoccupied with my novel and my protagonist that I seem unable to step into my own shoes and write a simple blog post these days. Allegories and metaphors have overflowed into my days, and the rest is still the same.

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