You feed me orchids to give me courage.

Sometimes your subconscious just kicks you right square in the junk.

And you don’t want to admit to yourself that you’re right, because it goes against everything you stand for, and there’s no way it would ever happen anyway.

Dreams are nature’s form of cruel and unusual punishment.  Things you know can’t or won’t happen, but you still dwell on it, wondering if maybe it could.  Waking from a dream, viewing with dissatisfaction that which you have, longing for what you could have had, missing what you don’t.

Don’t pretend that you understand me, I don’t even want you looking at me.

I hate myself for even feeling this way, for even considering the possibilities.  For lowering myself to something so base, so human. 

And I know it’s pointless.  All the angst and worry won’t get me anywhere, it never does.  No matter what I do, I will still be here, I will still be me, and I will still be utterly incapable of what my subconscious demands of me. 

And so the circle goes.