In my current life, the life I’ve lead for 20 years now, Desperado is all about Antonio Banderas. I could watch that movie 100 more times before I die and not get bored with it.
In my previous life, desperado meant something else.
I had a vivid and coherent dream last night. It was real and familiar and brutal.
My subconscious is such a dick.
I have some recurring dreams. Some are anxiety dreams and some are comforting and some are really fucking weird. Like the pink and black bathroom that shows up all the time. It has a big round black tub and I always forget that I have that tub available to me. There’s always dust in the it. Or the apartment that Randy and I are always just about to rent. It’s huge and rambling with dirty blue carpet and lofts and has three stories and a labyrinth of rooms. It’s shabby and usually other people have left stuff in it. Like books and clothes and toys.