Jason (jcreed) wrote,
Jason
jcreed

ETA: I'm not being quite as retarded as it may seem. J isn't exactly me (not without exaggeration anyway), and X isn't particularly a single person. I do kind of hate the word "tits", but not its referent. I just woke up at 6am and had the skeleton of this stuck in my head and wanted to get it down before I forgot it. J is acting here on some of the dumbest (and, separately, some of most cherished) parts of me, and I know it.

---

[Time: 6am]

J: What day is it?
X: It's no day at all — you're dreaming.
J: Oh.
[pause]
J: Oh. That's — that's too bad.
X: You'd think that, wouldn't you?
J: Lucky for me the real you can't read my mind.
X: Yes, or else she'd be able to tell you're crudely regretting this isn't one of those dreams I'm appearing in.
J: Lucky for me.
[X searches J's expression, and finds nothing]
X: Will you tell her?
J: Of course not. You know the coward I am.
X: But you're virtually certain she's unattached...
J: [interrupting] true, but —
X: ...and she seems to like you.
J: That's my point. As far as I know, setting all insecurity aside, she likes me, respects me. I don't dare fuck that up.
X: [almost taunting] Maybe I feel the same way about you.
[J cringes]
X: Maybe that's why I haven't ever said anything.
J: I don't want to be that guy...
X: "that guy"?
J: ...that guy to whom every girl that crosses his path is a not a person but a possibility, a prospect to be evaluated, a probability to be computed, a game to be played. I don't want to be that undeterrably horny, immature, and unfeminist dick.
X: You know you're not that guy.
J: Really, I don't. I've heard people tell me I'm not more times than I can count, but the other thoughts still rise up from the muck of the sewers of my brain.
X: The fact that you worry about it means you're fine.
J: The fact that I worry about it means I don't usually act that way, but every now and then it slips out, and I wind up flirting awkwardly with some girl I overwhelmingly oughtn't, and it makes me feel horrible anyway.
X: You feel horrible for flirting?
J: Yes.
X: You realize normal people do this all the time and enjoy it?
J: [slightly late] Yes.
X: So why can't you?
J: Because I fear losing existing friendships I actually care about, or aborting nascent ones, for the stupid reason of admiring a nice pair?
X: Of?
J: ...let's say legs.
X: Physical attraction by itself isn't evil.
J: But without anything else, it is. It's stupid and boring and shallow.
X: You're exaggerating. It's common, at least.
J: Look, no matter how much I accept that I can develop purely physical crushes, it doesn't mean —
X: ...but they never are, anyway.
J: Fine. Right. I know.
X: A nice pair of tits or bookshelves or stunning arguments or postgraduate degrees, it wouldn't really matter to you, would it?
J: My point is that no matter how much I might make myself feel okay about having stupid crushes of whatever kind, acting on them would have consequences. I don't want that kind of drama. I hate drama.
[X pauses, holds out her hands and looks up]
X: Would you mind explaining what you're doing here, then, with this —
J: [caught] shut up shut up shut up.
X: Have it your way. Good night! I mean, good morning.
[the sun comes up, and X vanishes]
Tags: dreams
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