I wake up to sounds of the ocean...the water rushing against the sides of the house, the waves making soft, gentle sounds. I wake up and think I must be at the beach--that, at some point, I entered a long and realistic dream that I didn't even notice.

Can't be.


This morning, the ocean came to me.

Flooding is always kind of daunting, but it happens too often, here, to be a terrifying affair. Sometimes, I find myself wishing I had a kayak, during the worst times, but...generally, it's okay. You get to enjoy living in a waterfront, for a few hours. All the plants look healthier, afterward.


I dreamt about Mike, for the first time. It was flooding in my dream, too, and he was helping me with a garden. He said, "I don't want to do this, anymore," and I just told him I was keeping the dog and that he would have to move out. I prefer that ending to what really happened, since, in this ending, I get a dog out of it and probably am still able to think of him fondly. I hate when things end badly. I hate when someone treats me so poorly that I can't like them as a person, anymore.

I'm not so much sad for myself as I am about the situation as a whole. It's a shame. My friend with a very distinct name and I were talking, the other night, and he asked how I was, and this was my conclusion: I'm a lot better than I was, because now I'm not really looking at my problems from an emotional point of view, so much as I'm looking at them as...problems from my past that now create present distance between two people who could have had a great friendship. I still think about the monster, sometimes, but now it's more like cleaning up the stadium after the Superbowl. How did I really feel about him? Is it really better that we aren't talking? Is he taking it too far by avoiding even looking at me?

I think I did like him, but that maybe it was more like having romantic feelings for a shadow of a person. Sure, there were present things about him that made me care so much, but...I think, somewhere deep inside me, we were still strolling around on a sunny day with our fingers laced together. And that wasn't him, anymore. I don't even know if it was me, anymore. Maybe not. I think we diverged, somewhere, but it was a difficult thing to admit. And, I think I was right to begin with--that it's best that we don't talk. Maybe never again. Maybe just at group events, and nothing substantial. Maybe it's even better that we aren't making eye contact. I feel like we're two magnets that can be held towards each other at a great distance, but, get them just a sliver too close, and they spring together before you can think about it.

And that is no way to live.

I'm cleaning it all up.

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