Token Board (a journal entry for a dream I had the day after my birthday)
We were at some beach house. Some salty flat of mist rose from behind it. Many MANY friends were there. Something about some Bruce Campbell guy, he wanted to have sex, I think I felt obligated? I'm not totally sure. We tour beds, I talk shit on Drew's books. (Drew's books are here?), I'm energetic. The Bruce Campbell has wrestled me into my "usual submission". I crack a joke and he disengages. I run to the beach, like it's an escape? Am I finished with him? Was I trapped or was I bored, or was it all just transaction, experimentation, obligation? I rush to the mist, take my top off and head right into the water. You're there, there's someone else too. You're taking photos, a familiar silhouette is taking snapshots of you pushing heads together, staring into each other's eyes, lips brought so close. Is this transactional? I pull you aside, we head up the hill, my mouth is full of questions. Self defenses "who was that?". "I don't care if you have other partners but you need to communicate!". Did I communicate? Did I even know you were here? Do I have any right to this jealousy? I'm caught up here, genuine feelings of jealousy, wounded by whatever strange hypocrisy I had just engaged in. "Why don't I receive any of the intimacy you expressed? Am I not good enough? Am I not kind enough? Am I not enough of what your looking for?". Almost in ignorance of whatever my situation was before heading down to the mist and water. My tears help regurgitate each spat of what work likes to call "negative self talk". With each statement you try to respond, your words break, and you pull me close. At the top of the hill our conversation takes a pause while some friends chat on a patio. I take a seat and begin weeping into my hands. Sitting together, you ask me softly "where's your token board?". I pull out a wooden slate with 9 circular grooves in it. You pull some large coins from your pocket, make me laugh with a cheap magic trick to look like your swallowing each token. When I say something nice about myself, I smile, I giggle, you spit up a token with a grin on your face. Eventually all nine grooves are all full. I look at your phone, you've been having a conversation with the person from earlier, their response on your lock screen reads "heartbreaking". I awake before I'm able to ask, or you're able to answer, what it is I'm spending my tokens on...