9 hours

someone should write a short story about not having any real thoughts at all.
"what are you thinking?"
"nothing."
"come on, what?"
no, seriously. nothing.
this story should also involve not being able to stay awake while reading a story, waking up in a chair to a cat staring at you, having appeared at your feet. it should also involve several new ways of interacting with people, because i like to have references for the way i do things, otherwise i cannot justify them. also sandwiches. my house is empty and i am freezing to death.
i had a dream while i was trying to read that i was standing on the side of the road. I must've been doing something I shouldn't have been doing, because cars were driving by and i was waiting for a reaction from one of them. then an older man with all very white hair and plaid drove by and threw a piece of garbage at me. and i woke up.
there were so many things i didn't vocalize yesterday-
how can i avoid you when there are so many pennies?
my own perception is slipping out of my control. i am myself and you are very specifically you. but now things are starting to blur and i feel like we're very slowly changing skins, to two different people who didn't know each other before November. which is no good. when i woke up today i took a moment to remember the specific feeling of the way we were, which was good. i need to be thinking in big picture, here. things are so easily reduced to spurts of a few days, or even just a few hours with you.
do i like waking up with anybody or specifically with you? no, wrong question. we, each other.
eugh. it shouldn't be this mindlessly impossible to maintain a certain level of clarity in the various aspects of life.