Do you think less of me now?

I once read an Ann Coulter book. I had just moved to DC from Texas. I'm not sure how I got the book but I would read it on the metro to and from school. There was a guy that I knew who worked for the newspaper. He told me not to read it on the train, or to at least put a book cover over the jacket. At the time I didn't understand what he meant by that. I never finished the book. I can't remember why. I seem to recall thinking that the book was funny. But then I changed, or the world changed. Maybe I started to notice the people on the train more. Maybe my sense of humor changed. Maybe I lost my ability to be objective. Maybe it wasn't a good book after all. It was a long time ago. I gave the book to my father-in-law. He put the book in his bathroom with the other reading material. Faded motorcycle magazines. A book on wood-working. I don't think he ever finished it either.

I was never political before I moved to DC. And even when I moved here, I fell into it more or less by accident. The accidental political intern. The accidental policy analyst. The accidental government employee. DC is a funny place.

Subconscious - you aren't even trying...

I dreamed that I was standing on a crossbeam at the pinnacle of a skyscraper. It was night. I needed to reach a box that was beside me on the beam but my hands were full. I needed to put the things I carried down so that I could pick up this box. It was important that I touch the box. But I couldn't get the balance right. I tried to bend at the knees, to slowly lower myself to the beam, but I pitched backwards, and then I was falling falling falling. When I landed, I was an old man in a young girl's room. I asked to leave but she wouldn't let me go. I felt like I shouldn't be there, but I didn't want to leave, not really. I only felt like I ought to leave, but really I wanted to stay and be angry and in love with a selfish sixteen year old.

Then I woke up. And I was lonely.