i just spent an hour and a half eating lunch w/ louisa, a neurotic jewish new yorker (that should get a prize for redundancy) who was in becca’s-and-my play last semester. i wouldn’t say that we’re close friends but we get along well — she reminds me of an old friend of mine, shira, who’s now at columbia (migrated TO new york: no surprise there). she regaled me with stories about the lesbian community here, all the craziness and spit-connections and concealed/unrequited passions. we could only extrapolate how beyond the pale life must be at, say, smith.
anyway, it was fun and quite diverting. two more papers to go.
i had yet another vivid, bizarre dream last nite in which (lss) i was in love w/ a boy who i thought i could change. i couldn’t; and out of sympathy for my situation, he went away. i went around thereafter offering a bowl of “soup of a young girl’s heart” to people i saw. it was exactly that: clear broth mixed with strings of heartflesh. stefanie fox said, “oh, i’d love to try that — but i can’t, i’m vegan.”
i don’t recall trying any of it in the dream. i guess that’s also redundant, eating your own heart, once you’ve gone to all the trouble of taking it out of you and making soup out of it for others. wait! is this some kind of metaphor? should i be learning something from this?
ehh, too tired. if my subconscious wants to communicate something to me, it’ll have to be a lot more explicit. b/w stress and worries about other people (poor ben, for example) i have a very limited capacity for picking up on subtleties.