I’d much rather have dirt under my nails than soap. Soap is sour.

My love life is blossoming with the coming of spring. It’s strange living and working outside every day in the mountains. The chores change with the seasons, like we sugar now instead of ski and in the summer we play, in the fall we make cider. Our hormones change with the moon but we can see that it’s the moon changing us because we go face to face with the moon each night. I feel the winds of change even inside my drafty little cabin. The sunshine means work will get done faster and more easily. On the equinox we moved telescopes to the boathouse and put snow tubes in Margetts, snow shoes in Hyde Watson. We learned about acid rain in March to prepare for the April showers. A spider checked into my yoga class. A boy disembodied my isolation. Spring is here.

I’ve been lost in a vivid dream world lately. A few nights ago I dreamed “Ben and the Theater” and wrote it down immediately after waking. I then drew it and thought about it and tried to remember more details, talked to Ben about it on the phone, it seemed so real that I couldn’t get away from it and suddenly it was 3pm and I hadn’t moved from Cuba (my couch).

Last night I dreamed I was in my old house on Grama. No one was there and I was scared because I was imagining a murderous film I had seen too vividly. I was afraid the imagery would find me in my house, which was very dark with carpet that prevented any sound. My memaw was in my dad’s bathroom in bed except it was a larger room, not one with a toilet. She would comfort me but she also haunted and scared me. I would have both sensations without seconds in between. I don’t know if she was real or dead. Then.

I was in a van with LP (the boy), my friend Jay, LP’s twin who doesn’t actually exist and three or so tall, sexy older looking women. At first I was in the back seat with one of the LP’s but he kept very physically flirting with one of the women so I moved toward the front of the van where Jay was sitting shotgun and the real LP was driving. They didn’t acknowledge me so I just sat trying not to exist in either space. Once we arrived at our destination, some sort of gymnasium, I was supposed to put on a baton performance but I was really terrible at twirling so I made plans to do a sexy dance while holding a baton instead. I never actually performed even though I practiced my routine for most of the dream.

Maybe it’s the weather or the love in its various forms, or the champagne, or my cycle but I just can’t help but stare and reminisce and wonder if I’ll see that theater or that van or my two LPs in my dreams tonight. I want to know them intimately and to own them and to experience them whenever I want. There is something very beautiful in experiencing these things in real time though. Sleep being the real time, unlike the internet’s lack of time which is its inherent disservice to mankind. My dreams are the only things I’m only admitted to see through a truly organic lens. I appreciate them. I feel bonded to their pulse which is more than I can say for my dealings with the rest of the world.

About my love life- keep quiet. Anything you read here is between you and me. Remember. The first rule of AdeleStreet is you do not talk about AdeleStreet. The second rule of AdeleStreet is you DO NOT talk about AdeleStreet or I will eat your family.

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