i had a dream you called to sort things out. it must have been the night p. slept over and everything was wonderful because i was ill at ease with a sunken stomach when he left too early in the morning (and he hasn’t been around long enough to manifest that viscerally just yet).
anyway, the you of my subconscious likely overheard me tell p. the origin story of the pasta machine, and, years too late, called to settle up.
(my whole life is calling to settle up right now. like maybe my body knows something i don’t, that i’m dying or i’ve just forgotten something and if i recall that certain moment, we could make sense of everything. not that i believe those things are possible.)
it was a non-dream, really, and the same as it’s ever been. you called and voiced my criticisms of myself in relation to you. we seemed a little sadder and like we both knew we’re wrong.
