Again, I had dreams this morning about that boy. Argh. It wasn't just like a while ago, when I'd be talking to a friend and then feel someone watching me and then turn around and it was him. No, these past couple of times he talked to me. First, I got to meet his girlfriend, which was, as you can imagine, no fun. Then he did the creepy thing where I was walking with a friend, and he was silently following me.
This has got to stop. I've been trying desperately not to think about him in any way, even though that's proving harder and harder. Part of me wants to find his real life counterpart and scream at him until I feel better. (Even though that will be a very short-lived feeling, because four minutes later I'll regret taking out my frustration on a probably-innocent someone.) There's part of me that's wondering if something else is a afoot and my subconscious is trying to warn me. I want to ask this boy if he's determined to leave me no safe harbor on this campus, in this town.
Remember when I complained about not dreaming about boys? I take that back. I don't need to dream about boys, even though what I meant was boys that were attainable and weren't going to make me feel bad about my failings. I would happily go back to the dreams that felt like Salvador Dali writing a summer blockbuster. Really. Or even better, to not dreaming at all, when it would be rare for me to have dreams within six months of each other.
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