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"Is that all it does?"
The girl I might well love, or at least love the positive potential of, while making out in a parallel-currently-inhabited version of my old dorm room, last night.
Referring, all at once, to: the disappointment she felt from the pleasure she was experiencing from my hand on her... pants, the precise pattern of that pleasure (A precise map for the first time I remember putting my hand in my own pants, dimensionality increased and spatially magnified and condensed), and my mechanism for responding to what I kinda felt like an attack on or at least challenge to my confidence.
I maybe should have attempted oral sex rather than looking for my adderall scrip to share with her. Not that I'd do that IRL - I've explicitly avoided a similar decision, owing to lack of confidence/"this could screw up my life much more rapidly than just waffling around". But in this dream I was more sure than usual that I could tell how it was that life was working, and this was basically the culmination of 40,000 years of consciousness and work... her dropping in when I have a bit of a breather, with finally no interruptions, and all the feels apparently on the money. Less this one slight angle, which she decides leads her to just ditch, after giving all the signals that no, she won't ditch. I guess that's what I get for being a skeezeball and trying to give her speed, in a dream, where there's no side effects, nor addiction potential, we won't run out, and literally everything basically says "If you can get this woman speed you'll keep her interest and you'll both have a proper eternity to have all the fun, properly, and no, nothing's gonna run out on you."
Both options, as all options are, are equally wrong in their own way. As it is, she vanished along with my scrip and good pills, and I caught up with her later before getting forced/channeled into waking up, rather than just being bounced out to wake up or worse immediately.
At least the makeout was good, less my low self-image.
Even my dreams are profoundly unsatisfying to me as anything other than a buffet of betrayal, failure and bullshit. Never enough time, never enough attention and care. Most of them I've forgotten... and most of the ones I remember, it's the universe around me and the people in it that don't care.
I'm gradually learning to see through the "twisted" "logic" of the dreams and reality alike. Everything represents something else; things move in groups that are impossible to join without leaving, and everything betrays on three levels. Which means that, most likely, my life is over.
Godspeed you mad bastards.