I just finished a short story I titled “Fish” this morning. Half way through, I was not sure if I was writing fiction or writing porn, but I decided to follow sue, and think about that question some other time. I was not working this month. Apart from moments of self-doubt (and insomnia), I have to confess I kinda like it. It gave me so much freedom and time. I could sit at my desk all day and not to look at the time and not to worry about a thing (but of course, that’s not true, for I’m constantly thinking about rent, and food, and water bill, and electricity and credit card bill, failing to refrain myself not to). It could be that I don’t use an alarm clock now. It also could be that I’m liberated. How wonderful it is to have an idea and directly see to it! Instead of ‘huh, I better write it down’ and later puzzled over what’s scribbled down (and decrypted, too) in a hurry, with the hope that I’d work on it some time this year.
Dearest friends,
The following is absolutely one hundred percent non-fiction.
I had a dream.
And it’s also not an opener of a great speech. You see, I don’t have vision.
In the dream, I was worrying about what I should do with my life, and what I am going to do next (could be that I was not fully asleep). I was in a restaurant. And I was completely annoyed by people’s voice, just like yapping all over me. Then it switched scenes, and I was now outside this great house that’s rumored to be haunted back in my hometown. There were two guys in trench coats, profession: artist (don’t ask me, I just know). I was so nervous for I was about to hand them my resume.
But then I was dancing to the music just a few yards down the road. They were still talking to each other over the fence. But I was like ‘who cares’. I was dancing to Bach. And I was doing ballet (sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t in real life). Whenever Bach did the thing he did, like dun!, dun!!, dun!!!, I made a turn, I jumped with my toes (reminded me of a certain type of water insect), and I flied, with my arms out stretched, and I smiled, with my mouth open wide, gasping, like those ladies on stage that make the audience fear that they’re going to have a heart attack and eye brows like, not real.
The point is: I just felt so happy and wished there’s a way to literally do that.
I love the dream. And it’s not Freud at all! So direct and simple: “I wanna have fun, so bite me!” How happy it would be to just live on those little things? Today, I don’t want to be reasonable and think about reality. Today, I want to be half in and half out of the dream. Later, there’ll be time to switch back on and get depressed.
“Pornstud” haven’t got a rejection yet. It’s been four months, a month later than they promised I’d get a reply within. Could be it made it to someone’s desk. Could be they just forgot about it. Could be they just went like ‘This guy again?! He kept sending these strange stories every, beepin’, month! Let’s ignore him and get a restraining order.’ It better not be the third, for heaven have mercy, good for them, there’s another one coming tonight.
Life’s pretty sweet, ain’t it?
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