Last night I dreamed of him. At the present time, I cannot remember the dream in detail save one -- it was of him.

I woke and was comfortable. These past mornings have been filled with crumpled sheets pressing lines into my skin and hair wrinkled against my face with sweat. I've laid in bed, eyes barely open, wondering why my head ached the way it did. I would reach for my glasses and, though softly blurred, every surface in my room seemed to direct sharp, bright light into my eyes.

I'd hold the glasses in my hand, avoiding the further clarity they would bring. My phone would tell me what time it was and who was upset at me for ignoring my alarm. Squint. Reach. Slide. Other side. Grab. Open. Recoil. I'd been sleeping later and later every day until this morning.

I woke from the dream and remembered very little even then. I sent a message, curious about it's subject. No reply. No surprise. The silence on his part is to be expected. I wish that I were a more patient person, less impulsive, less greedy. I would likely not have put us in the position that is ours today.

I didn't think about that this morning when I tossed the phone to the side and angrily stood in the shower. Hot temper and hot water. One will eventually run out. Thankfully, my building has a community water heater that is made to accommodate seven stories of bathers. My temper, quick to set fire, is also just as quick to burn out. It takes too much energy and time being angry; as I said, I have no patience.

I wonder now, looking back on my morning, what I could have dreamed of that put days of unrest to bed? What was it that made me long to see even written word and made me angry upon his denial?

I have thought of him frequently, birthdays and moving dates loom in the distance to remind me of a friend I cannot call. There are so many things that only he understood, that only he laughed at. It is hard, knowing there is one person who gets it, one person who makes it so easy to tell the story, but you cannot tell them. It's like a game, where the one word you need to perfectly describe everything is the one word you must never speak.

I find myself dissolving into nonsense at this point. My mind and my fingers are too tired to write effectively. I'm not sure if I will sleep, but I will at least lay, sheets wrinkled into flesh, hair matting against sweaty skin, waiting.

Re-reading The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress.

/sigh
/target "Robert A. Heinlein"
/love

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Festival: 3-day Pass-Zilker Park-09/26/08 12:00--3-day Pass

Driving up to see the bf this weekend. Got his folks some wine and such for mother's day. Chris gave me GM of Anathema. Raided according to schedule and downed a new boss (omgwtftits). Have my final interview with SAAFDN next Friday (squee!!) and things are looking good as far as Rebecca becoming an actual productive member of society.

Haven't been sleeping well (as illustrated by the rambling and moderately insane late-night posts and... adventures (what else would you call a run-in with a mostly-nude man?). Started running again and am seriously contemplating starting up a membership at Bally's -- I figure actually paying for a gym membership will spur me into some sort of compensatory attendance.

Running to get coffee and lunch with James and then heading out soon.

I can't sleep, so I walked the stairwell to the upper floors of my apartment building to see a friend and watch the sky change colors. On my way back down, I was met by an old man with a graying beard and balding head. He was also, notably, wearing nothing but underpants.

We paused, looked at each other a moment and finally spoke.

"Good morning," I said, averting my eyes from the obviously underpants-only attire.

"Well, uh, this is awkward." He replied with a grin.

I laughed and agreed.

"I just woke up and decided to go for some exercise." He explained.

"I couldn't sleep, so I went to watch the skyline. I suppose I'm heading to bed now though."

"Alone?"

"Aside from an assortment of cats."

"May I join you?"

I paused. I didn't want it to be an overly long pause -- this was already awkward enough.

"No, I think I'll be alright," I said smiling as cheerily as humanly possible under the given circumstances, "but thank you for the offer."

It was the best I could come up with. He'd put me in a bit of a spot. As if wandering the halls at the crack of dawn, clad only in underpants, wasn't strange enough, he'd effectively propositioned me.

"Look at that smile." He said, smiling back at me, "we should get married."

Not knowing if he truly lived in my building, or if he was really an awkward and immensely under dressed homeless man, possibly completely insane as well, I again declined very politely.

The subsequent pause was a combination of distress and attempt at social grace on my part and... something on his.

I decided that closure was what was needed and shook his hand firmly, saying that I really should be going.

"It was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll be this lucky again?"

"Oh, I'm sure that's not at all unlikely, I rarely sleep well."

I hurried off to my apartment, glanced behind me as I turned the corner and opened the door as silently as possible. Charming as he was, there was still the unavoidable fact that he was a nearly nude man wandering the stairwell of a quiet apartment building after dark.

I had to tell someone. No one I know would have been thrilled to get a wake-up call at this hour of the morning to hear about an eccentric old man in the stairwell.