I read something earlier this week about how long it takes to get into REM sleep and dream. For depressed people, it takes around sixty minutes; for normal people, around ninety; and for happy people, around two hours.

Interesting.

I’m not sure what that says about someone who can get into a dream he remembers… in a twenty minute nap.

However, lately, I’ve had the most extraordinary dreams.

In fact, I can’t wait to go back to sleep. And it shows. Last week, I averaged fourteen hours of sleep a day.

The dreams have become so amazing. So vivid. So wild. So defined. So consistent. Dreamland is what I truly look forward to. Why would I want to wake up? Why would I want to get out of bed?

And, for the first time in ages, I pick up where I left off. Like I’m traveling between one life and the other. Although, when I am here, and try to focus and remember what is going on there, it’s like I am betraying the dream, and the memories evaporate.

So, I stop. I am afraid the entire dreamland will dissolve if I continue to betray it.

What I can recall, and what keeps enticing me back, is that I am living someplace warm, probably Southern California, with a certain 24-year-old Instagram model, in a large house and surrounded by her friends, living a rich life filled with adventure, and the freedom to go anywhere…

And while I would love to embellish more, I cannot risk betraying the dream. In fact, I am afraid I’ve already said too much, yet I wanted to note something down for that day…

When dreams become nightmares. Or fleeting. Or disappear altogether. Or the mistress returns.

However, if the line between dreams and reality begins to blur. And I am always there. With her. Well, would that be so bad?

But no, this will end. Like all things, so here it is.

Just a small record. So I can remember dreamland.

Remember. And smile.

There are so many women out there, almost all of them are beautiful in one way or another.

Yet, it makes no sense to fixate on one. None. Whatsoever.

So, why do I?

Occasionally, one particular woman truly dazzles. She’s like looking into the sun.

Will there be another? Unquestionably.

Yet will I be ready for her?

Hmm…

History would suggest that I won’t. Yet…

There's no such thing as a good influence. All influence is immoral, because the aim of life is self-development. To realize one's nature perfectly. That's what we're here for. A man should live out his life fully and completely, give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream. Every impulse that we suppress broods in the mind and poisons us. There's only one way to get rid of a temptation and that's to yield to it. Resist it and the soul grows sick with longing to the things it has forbidden to itself.

Perhaps this is why I am so sick. With longing. I know what I want. Yet…

Yet I am currently talking to a few wonderful young ladies. Each one is beautiful. Amazing. Enchanting. Not her. Not the one I want.

Is that so wrong? How else will I be ready for the next dazzler?

Or will I ever?

When the excitement of meeting one who’s soul reaches out and touches mine… how can I not be eager? Excited? How can I cure the ache in my soul when I frighten her? When she inevitably rejects me?..

How can I contain my excitement? And channel it appropriately?

So many questions…

What i'm listening to:

Strangers
FLETCHER
You Ruined New York City for Me

Nobody knows what I’m doing. It’s good for mystique.

It’s been a month since we stopped talking.

Of course, it’s only been six weeks since we met.

Yesterday, I hardly thought about you at all.

I don’t know if I am alarmed or reassured that even a magical connection that is severed eventually fades. Yet, there is something about you that I will remember fondly. Forever.

It helps that there is someone new in my life. And I like her. A lot.

She, too, is broken. Like me. Like you.

She is guarded, protective, and that makes her mysterious.

That is her word for me. Mysterious. Mr. Mysterious. And I can tell she is fascinated by me. Yet, I don’t know if it is the mystery she’s fascinated by? Or the charm? Or the magnificent penis?

Yet, it doesn’t really matter. I am fascinated too. I like her. A lot.

And I am guarded, protective, and it’s making me mysterious.

I know my reasons for raising my shields.

I know that she, too, will leave. Probably on a high note. Like you did. And the agony will return. And again, I’ll be plunged into loneliness… and I’ll have to decide—return to the tranquility of solitude? Or the turbulent, yet beautiful, waters of another voyage with another woman?

For now, I’ll take the chance. I like her. A lot.