7:10 a.m. - August 31, 2004
Last night I dreamed of would-be sex, inspired by Ryan, I'm sure, but would-be in that I couldn't find the guy I was going to sleep with. I was walking down hallways that remind me of Suzallo asking various people if they had seen him, running to catch just a glimpse of him before he rounded another corner. I woke up angry because in my dreams, as in real life, I'm cheated even of minimally satisfactory sex.
This morning in the shower I thought about how good it would be to see Brad again and discuss how things are. Funny, isn't it, that now I want to talk with a therapist? To talk without censure, to talk without ceasing until there's nothing left to say - these things are fantasy.
I realize just now that I've woken up sad, very sad. How does this work? Sigh. I know too much of chemicals and brain structures to not know the answer. I'd rather not know.