recoveringmale

I am tired of being sick. In its early stages it is something of a novelty, an excuse for pampering oneself. I have not had to work much, nor have I been able to concentrate on school. However, it has been utterly miserable at the same time and I hardly prefer the free time to the alternative. My productivity has gone down severely, and I really cant afford that right now. I began taking better care of myself (lots of soup and herbal tea and orange juice) and sleeping in late when I felt like it. The real question is whether I will maintain this newfound healthiness after I have recovered.
This morning I was awoken abruptly from an extremely lucid dream by a phone call from my housemate, around 6:10 in the morning. The dream was one such that I felt its presence linger in my heart long after I was awake; rarely do I have dreams that are so clear in their moral instruction and meaning. Ive grown used to nightmares of paranoia and masochistic scenarios of failure and heartbreak. But rarely does a dream point a damning finger at me and say: You have been warned. When the phone rang, I was near the end of the dream, and I rather wanted to see how it would play out. However, my housemate had been hit by a car while riding his bike to work, so there was little choice in the matter. He was all right, but needed to be picked up (his bike had been mangled and his ankle sprained), and I left the dream unfinished with a tinge of regret and headed out into the cold. As I drove in the darkness I wondered if such a dream would ever come back and finish itself for me. Unlikely. There is a theory about developing techniques to make dreams more coherent and lucid, but it is not something I feel inclined to undertake. My relationship with my unconscious is already a strained one. Most of the time I wish I never remembered my dreams, or better still, didnt dream at all.
It is sad to think that I am making the same mistakes over again. To know that history is repeating itself, and that I am responsible for this. To feel unable to express my heart simply. I am practicing, and it is good, but I am tired and sick and sad and lonely and it makes it hard to care. And a feeling can be too much to bear if theres no one to tell it to.
I just want one real experience where I let go of control. I want a button that will make tears flow from my eyes when I need them to. I want to stop thinking the way I do. Its not productive at all. The life Ive created seems to revel in misery, I can tell by flipping through my cd collection. I have my little pleasures, things that make me happy. But in all things, joy is mingled with grief. Painted nails chip. Contact lenses begin to sting my eyes. The days grow darker and shorter.
But fear not. For all hopelessness and negativity in the world (and it is thick enough in the air these days to cut with a knife), I will not give in. Failure is, simply, not an option. There is work to do and time is precious. It really is.