Why Dream At All?
[Listening to: Something Better Change - The Stranglers - Peaches: The Very Best of the Stranglers]
Some days I really do feel that my life has become like a self created prison, with imaginary walls that I can't see over, a small view of the sky, and a wee cell that I pace about in. Perhaps this is because I'm essentially unhappy, stuck in a single relationship I can't get out of, doing a job I like for a company I don't, and talking to myself more than is healthy. I'm essentially the same person I ever was, but the more time I spend with myself the more I realise that I'm not much good at being on my own, yet that's normally how I find myself.
Why dream at all? We all sometimes feel that our dreams are beyond our reach (after all, I sometimes dream I can fly, and that's never going to happen), but I'd really begun to think that I could cope with just dreaming about the prettiest Spanish girl falling in love with me, and in the real world we'd just be friends. But life is not always so simple, and a chance remark by a friend today made me realise that it's not me she wants, and all of a sudden my dreams just seem futile. Don't get me wrong, I'd far rather we were friends than not, in fact I value her friendship more than she knows, and wouldn't want that to end, but the remark was like a paper cut, small, but it sure stung.
My oldest friend will from now on be referred to as "my youngest but oldest friend", as she says that my previous comment made her sound as though she was 150. Well, any of us reaching 150 is about as likely as me flying, but we will always be friends, regardless of our age. Some things you just know. She wrote me a lovely email, which took the sting out of my cut somewhat. Of course I'm aware that I don't make it easy to be my friend sometimes (I'm sure the prettiest Spanish girl would agree with that - but likewise I hope we stay friends for many many years to come). Hopefully I give something back in return. Friendship and love are not dissimilar in that they are like sand held in the palm of your hand ~ held loosely in an open hand, the sand remains where it is, if close your hand and squeeze tightly to hold on, the sand trickles through your fingers. I of course test everyones patience to the limit.
On a different and lighter note, I had the quietest weekend imaginable, but not for the normal reasons. Due to smog levels rising to unacceptable heights, all cars were banned in Rome yesterday, and the people took to the streets. Reported here in the Telegraph and an edited version even appeared in the Sydney Morning Herald
Thanks Thom for the comment; anyone else out there?