Escapism.

What the hell do I ever talk about in this blog? It seems I talk about nothing in order to avoid talking about everything. My own journals and workbooks seem to go a bit like this too. I can write about everything except what I really mean, I can write about everyone else but never directly about myself. I have fooled myself into believing that I sit down to write in order to deal with things, to think about things, when really, I sit down to write in order to escape. I obviously cannot ever escape my own mind and thoughts so I don't feel too terribly guilty granting myself a little physical escapism in the form of writing every once in awhile.

I sat next to the Chattahoochee River today. It is so hot here that fog literally rises from the river as the water evaporates. But that fog makes it one of the nicest places to be, like natural air conditioner. The coolness of the river and the good conversation may have gone a bit to my head. I have been thinking differently lately, and right now it seems like I really shouldn't give a shit about anything I'm "supposed" to do. You were right today. I'm learning how to just be. And I feel like I should keep working on it, this "just being" thing.

I dreamed last night. Usually, I don't dream very extended or complicated, lucid dreams. But last night was different. In one dream, I dreamt that the North and the South decided to redo the Civil War. Everyone wanted everything to be fair, so they used modern Civil War re-enactment armies for the soldiers. They wore the uniforms and used weapons from 1860. I dreamt about the formations, about how it looked, the camps, the battlefield, everything. General Lafayette, the French hero, was the leader of the Northern armies and, for some reason, Mussolini was the leader of the South. And Mussolini was actually on horseback, leading the charge into battle. I wasn't at the battle, I was sitting at a dinner at the North Druid Hills Country Club in Atlanta, wearing a gown and speaking with a very Southern accent about the prospects of the South actually beating the North this time. And even though I wasn't at the battle, I was still, in my dream, terrified of Mussolini.

Oddly enough, it kind of all makes sense. Even now that I'm awake.