The dream was about sex, dangerous swimming pools, a Night at the Roxbury actor and I bonding over sadness. Waking up teary eyed. Yesterday, my mom was telling me about her visit to the torture exhibit in a San Diego museum. Swimming with the leopard sharks in the summer. She called them tiger sharks. I told her the only difference between the two, was that one kills people and the other doesn't. She was wearing a Baby Bjorn and walking on the beach as we spoke on the phone. She said it was both fascinating and difficult seeing what people could come up with. That the very creativity of the devices was the sickening marvel. Who sits around thinking of these things? Sadists, probably. Was my answer. Some regulars at the cafe, after a brief delving into my history told me I should write about my family. I told em it was all still too close. That I'm only capable of biting off little bits at a time, kind of like a sadist. I'm kidding. We were a family, are one, that sits around and digs into whichever depths it takes, to get a laugh. That's why that girl the other night, telling me I was the most serious person she's ever met - she must have been upset that we were alone in her apartment drinking tequila and staying on separate sides of the oak table. Occasionally, my ego is good for something. I can't sleep with everyone, especially if we've done it already. It's been three days since my last drink.
That girl the other night read me a lovely poem. Something about hoofbeats running away. My mom told me the water was so clear she could see to the bottom, the rocks and everything.
