the fibroids of fear

last night the wind was blowing the torrential rain sideways. i cracked the window and listened from my bed, cats askance, feeling content with life. i have been out a few times with a new guy. he is very quiet. i feel rather somnambulous around him. but he has potential. perhaps. oddly, i have not really thought about it much- almost indifferent, really- and it is only when i speculate on that indifference that i consider it at all.
i want to be swept off my motherfucking feet. eventually. i have been having SO MANY SEX DREAMS! (the capital letters emphasize the rarity of such reveries.) i also had a dream last night in which i was sliding sideways down an icy hill in my vehicle. prescient? indicative of my perpetual flux? i was not harmed. i landed off the road in a snowbank. "hmm" i said aloud. the sky was clear and the surroundings glittered whitely. i once read (in a fruity 'dream interpretation' book) that 'dangerous' activities/situations in which one is nonchalant/unafraid/unscathed signify optimism, or at least acceptance, of dramatic life changes. i appreciate this assessment, despite the bullshittiness of dream analysis in general; this is the same happily rueful mood i derive from a really good horoscope.
'never my love' plays. this is one of the most gorgeous songs ever. how many fucking mix tapes have i put this on?
saw 'candy' over the weekend. that is a fucking excellent film. i exited the theatre pleased that i have not ever experienced heroin addiction. my hedonistic lines must be drawn somewhere. if it comes to some small pretentious screen near you, i heartily recommend. i also recommend: mango habernero salsa; singing along to nick drake whilst driving through pouring rain; not pressing too hard on the open fontanelles of 3# chihuahuas; the view from my lair on a misty morning as last night's nag champa clings to the walls; the man at the computer next to me (with a skull & crossbones do-rag) dancing in place to "lonely too long."
reading about sensory deprivation whilst sprawled on my floofy rug- sensory overload, tactily speaking? in the '70s studies were done with university volunteers: hands encased in padded tubing, placed in 98.6 degree water in black, soundless chambers, ears plugged so they couldn't even hear themselves breathe. after an average of 2 hours most of the participants begged to be let out (their only tie to the outside world being an emergency alarm) and none of them could be coerced to reenter. the longest duration of anyone was about 20 hours, and he had to have in-patient counseling for a few days afterwards. deprived of sensation, everyone in the study reported intense and horrible hallucinations. theories why: the brain believes the body is asleep and starts to dream; unused/underutilized portions of our conscience, the nasty parts, are able to flex their will in the absense of other distractions... the horror, for me, would be the isolation. i crave being alone but only with the option, at any given moment, of remingling with society. i would start to panic that the monitors of the study would yawn, check their watches, and decide to go home, leaving me bereft and hand-entubed with only my fucking psychoses for companionship... never to return. sensory deprivation would give my neuroses legs, hair, and teeth.
i am reticent to proofread this, having a hunch that it is nothing more than a laughable run-on, so shall post as is. proofreading is for the weak? (and writing in a blog is for the socially stunted...)