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how lovely. my brain is back to being both weird and obtuse for me.

i had some good fuel. after yesterday's horrible french revolution class, i went to the library like a good little soldier and picked up two more books: one of very early survivor testimonies, and the other on polish film. i wandered through the film stacks remembering that prof. hottie's book was in there somewhere but would you look at that - i did NOT have the call number memorized. hm.

i then went to the a/v library to find what i assumed was an old article - i thought it would be on microfiche. the guy behind the desk was all confused by the call number, and kept going into the back room to look for it, not finding it, asking me more questions about it, etc. finally he pulled out these "microtext" cards. a huge freakin' stack of them. he led me to a decrepid machine in the back of the a/v library. "this doesn't get used much..." huh, no shit. you put the card on a piece of glass on the top, two tilted insufficient bulbs are directed at it, and the magnified "reflection" shows up on behind the green-tinted screen. i had to focus every other line and move the card around manually to navigate the pages. and the best part was that i couldn't copy the pages or print them up, as you are able to do with microfilm/fiche.

but i felt like such a good little historian that i rewarded myself with sushi. it was even better as i came home to i-boy holding a wee joint. green! where have you been? it's been a very dry house lately.

all of this likely spurned my imagination to send out more obvious messages to me. again prof. h related. GODDAMMIT.

again, i can't really remember the first part of the dream well enough to articulate, but i finished up once again in an academic institution. this time i think it was one of the old colleges on campus. very high ceilings, lots of dark polished wood, heavy wood doors, etc. i see prof. h. on a cell phone talking to someone about "$1,000 a month, yes, well, that's quite expensive but alright since i'm only going to be living there for four months..." - he paces the room and i don't know whether to reveal myself or not; he looks terribly stressed but i gather that he's leaving. our time is finite. i keep touching my face, sniffling, worried that i need to blow my nose. i venture towards the bathroom to do a booger-check (nothing makes you more unsexy than boogers) hearing the squeak of the big, heavy wood door as i move it.

prof. h. is off the phone, and i think he catches a glimpse of me. i see a weirdo student-type milling around as well (could this be my weirdo-student hang-arounder alter ego, i wonder??) and decide that i need to talk to him, at least say hi, since i had seen him about 4 times without doing so and now it was *really* awkward and ridiculous.

i wash my hands and leave the bathroom, and make myself known to him. he is about to leave with this weirdo student (male, possible conspiracy theorist) and seems hurried and exasperated. even more so after i say hi. he turns to put on his coat and talks to me while turned away. "yes, k...you know you seem to have this pavlovian response of pure joy when you see me and..." (this is said very bitterly, mind you.)

"um, and that's a *bad* thing?" i ask, face contorted with recognition of the obviousness of both that statement and now, my feelings.

"well, it could be worse. just everything is a little overbearing, and your jeans...they are just a little too much sometimes..."

"my jeans?? hey, i do NOT own one pair of jeans that are too tight. and THESE pants are not tight at all, they're baggy, for crying out loud!" i exclaim, referring to my cords. (and it's true - if i wore anything remotely "too tight" i would never go out in public.) i do realize, however, that i unbuttoned my shirt before leaving the washroom...and i'm surprised that he has not mentioned this instead.

he talks over me. "yes, and then you feel uncomfortable and overcompensate by wearing...pants like those."

i'm flustered and embarrassed but hold my own. i'm not going to let some stalking object tell me that i'm stalking them or i'm obsessed or ridiculously obvious in my obsession! NEVER.

so to make it go away i wake up.

so - WTF? is he BREAKING UP WITH ME? but what about last time?? WHAT ABOUT PARIS? was that some last-ditch effort for him to gauge his feelings for me, whether he could STAND me or not? my puppy-dog loyalty, my so-called "pavlovian response" at seeing him, like said puppy widdling excitedly? oh, nobody ditches ME like that and gets away with it! MUTHAFUCKA!

um. just a dream. just a dream.

perhaps spurned on by the fact that i saw him ONCE AGAIN on his bike, in his little biking-around-on-saturday uniform of choice. THIS time, however, it was painfully close to my apartment. i was crossing the street just below my block, and waited for a car to slow down, then a bike, and crossed despite there not being a flashing hand beckoning me to do so. i realized, mid-cross, that the man on the bike was HIM, and once-a-fucking-gain, there was no recognition and no way to stop myself and RECOGNIZE him. (you know, that pavlovian response) he turned to go south and i couldn't see him down the street, but i wondered what the FUCK he was doing in my hood, and is this his idea of fun, now, just tooling around on saturdays where *I* might happen to be, and rolling past me with blind ignorance?? is it???

i was quite upset. surely you understand my frustration. HE'S BEING SUCH A JERK. don't make me stalk someone else, now.

oh, i remember the first part of the dream. i was correcting someone's grammar. explaining that there was no such word as "broughten" like there is no such word as "wroten". i was conjugating verbs.

ACCCK!