You know that song, “Any Dream Will Do”? I love it but not that line. Dreaming is my bunker. I’ve misused it for so long. I’m done with dreamy eyes hardwired for romantic collisions of the disastrous kind. Now I’m in recovery. I mean, I still need it for creative benefits so I don’t know that I can ever truly ‘recover’ from a life lived out there over the rainbow…
Forgive me if this is disjointed. I’m zoning as I write…I don’t want to lean on this habit anymore. It doesn’t make me happy. It’s good for story writing. I don’t really write those anymore though.
The point, all my life I’ve been going gaga over elusive folk. Last year my switch was on a dimmer. This year it flipped all the way to the off position. I think I just got tired of giving a fuck. I erased the tipping event from this summer because even the condensed version seemed so freakin’ trite.
“The colors faded into darkness. I was left alone.”
— “Any Dream Will Do”, Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
No, any dream will not do.
Not those dreams. Not the ones that end with shredded hearts and wasted time. Those dreams can kick rocks.