the waking lyfe

A series of strange dreams, strung together through out nights, all of them related, all of them sending me mixed messages. I suppose my wires are crossed and firing inconsistently. Today I woke up feeling a little hopeless, a feeling I have not had in a long time, I don't like what these dreams are playing at. I don't like surprises. There is some amount of anticipation, my expectations always get too high, I am always a little disappointed, even though I have no reason to be. That and even when I don't realize it, I plan things out in my head, even Savannah 2.0, who is less concerned with how things will turn out, plans things in her head, just little things, details, which are really the important things anyways. It is a bad habit, it is something that needs to be shaken out of me, so bring on the surprises (and bring on the stomach aches).
My heart is permanently in my stomach, I can not get the two separated for the life of me, so these dreams keep having me wake up earlier than I should, with a big hollow sort of stomach churn. Having just woken up from such dreams, I am not sure I am making sense, and convinced I am being more dramatic about the dreams than necessary, but there is a certain amount of drama or distance required when writing, and I can't seem to play the distance card today. I am always trying to make my dreams mean something. Last week Lauren and I were talking about dreams, and she told me she heard that dreams are just us playing out possibilities. Not necessarily desires, just the various options. We both liked this, mostly because it comforted us.
My hair is in a not, my eyes are pale, my breath has a faint taste of tobacco, and my body is just recovering from the routine morning weakness. I am nothing but I bundle of nerves, and that is all to apparent to me most days. When I was sick last time (not fatal, just something that happens when a young gal like myself decides to not take her medicine), I went to Mary (a message therapist, of sorts). My leg has a "shaking point" as I call it, but she said it was all the toxins releasing themselves from my body, and that the gurgling of my stomach proved it. She held my leg at it's shaking point for 20 minutes maybe more, waiting for the toxins to be released, waiting for the leg to stop shaking. At the time I just thought she was not very bright. Now I am starting to consider the possibility that my constant nervousness actually produces this many toxins. Regaurdless, I left the appointment feeling so nauseous I thought I was going to have to puke in the bushes. I made it to the car and slouched, low, as low as I could get without falling onto the car floor. I missed eating custard, my stomach was too angry with me. There is never a moral to my stories.
On the other note, I have been thinking a lot about my lovely nest of friends, my true niche (at least for this time and place). I know some good people who know some good people who know some good people, so basically, I know lots of good people. These kidz could not be nicer (well, they could be, but I wouldn't want them to be). I am learning to be comfortable around people, which is new and so much nicer than being constantly uncomfortable around people. Regardless, I, for once, feel like I really belong somewhere, and am not just always lurking on the edges of various social scenes. 19 was a success. I suspect 20 will be even better.