I realized what it is about things that are real. And why they always feel like dreams. Real is things I could only dream of, which, when they happen to me, feel at the same time sharply real and dreamily unreal. Things that remind me of books, or that I have some mental construction of before they happen. These experiences are heightened and untouchable. Since most of my life consists of them now, I always feel this dreamy sense that I'm watching myself from far away, or in my head I'm hearing a narration of what I'm doing, but about someone else. It's the meta view, where everything is in context.

Usually it's small actions that are repeated every day, like Sitting in Class: yellow notebook, black ink pen, wooden table, windows open to the rain, white skirt, black stockings, legs crossed, taking notes on "the indexical referrent" while staring at Boy until he looks and I look away. or Waiting for the Bus: running down the sidewalk I always slip on the magnolia petals, slow down, walk across the street to the bus stop, stand there reading a book or looking at the trees. Buying Groceries: getting lost in the aisles clutching the red basket, crisscrossing the store until I find some assortment of fruit, oatmeal, yogurt, and bread (I feel like a grown up!).

Some of them are big things, like Leaving Home and Going to College. Having a Broken Heart. Riding on an Airplane.

I am so easily amazed by the feeling of continuity, history, timelessness. The more small details that fit, the better. I collect experiences. I make the tiny pieces of my life fit together in the worlds's clockwork. This is the mode I switch to when someting goes wrong. We take a wrong turn and get lost in some strange neighborhood; my dad curses. I think "we're Getting Lost..." Things that shake things up a bit, like power outages and heat waves and blizzards.

Or just walking down the street. The simplest things are too perfect for me to wrap my mind around even for one instant. These are the things that feel old the first time I do them. Not old like boring, but old like caked with meaning and history. "People do this. Someone in a book did this." These things are heavy on my brain, they press on me from all sides.

Sometimes I must seem to have an unusual, unreasonable interest or pleasure about something, when really I'm just enjoying the feeling of a real experience-- it doesn't matter which one. When other people are frustrated about some annoyence and I sit there taking it all in and feeling the clockwork of the world slowly turning.

Today I had a new one. My heart was pounding as I asked, hardly believing it was that easy, sure that her eyes could see through me to my dirty heart and the pang of despair. And every second I feel as though I'm walking into a dream.