Dreaming of You
Up in my lonely room
When I’m dreaming of you
Oh what can I do
I still need you, but
I don’t want you now
—
Being exhausted usually does the trick.
Yeah, flat out dog tired is usually the sure fire way to drop into a nice, dreamless sleep. I should be able to close my eyes and just fall asleep right now.
Okay so tonight isn’t usual.
It’s what, twelve feet from this bed to the door? Six foot of hallway. Then twelve feet again, assuming the room mirrors this one; twelve feet to his bed.
So that’s about thirty feet… and an entire ocean.
—
I could go out there, knock on his door, wait for him to open it… and then hit him with something!
Perhaps the lamp? No, that’s too violent. I don’t want to kill him. Much. And, I don’t know, is that thing wired straight into the wall? That’s unhelpful.
A pillow then? No, too… playful. I remember that time… No! I’m not doing that any more. No more dumb nostalgia for things that are gone forever.
Okay, so, not hitting him, but we need to talk.
I need to talk. There are so many things I still need to say. I need to explain…
I could go over there, knock on the door… then tie him up and make him hear me out this time. I could use one of his ties. Would that work with these hotel chairs? I don’t know, the backs aren’t quite conducive to…
Of course, while I’ve got him tied up, I could just… No!
Oh shut up brain! Just shut up!
—
Okay screw talking. I don’t need to talk. Screw him. This isn’t about him. This is about me.
—
Why does it have to be him?
Of all the potential hot and intelligent men in the world, this is the one my heart chooses to fixate on?
A guilt-ridden, mono-maniacal political genius, with the emotional maturity of a fifteen year old and the balance skills of a two-legged milking stool… that’s my heart’s desire?
God, I miss him. What was it, that number I came up with? Thirty feet..?
Just stop thinking about him already. Sleep now. Come on.
—
This is about me.
It’s my time. It’s my chance.
I nearly died and what would my obituary have read? Would I have even been listed as an aide? Or just as his assistant?
Donna Moss, a most excellent typist.
I don’t know why I lived when they all died… oh no, come Donna, don’t cry. No more crying. I’m here, and I’m finally making something of my life. I have to.
Like Leo said, chin up and keep moving forward.
—
Everything I want is thirty feet away.
Good god, listen to yourself! Could you be any more pathetic?
—
Bob’s Boulders… how dumb is that? What’s it even supposed mean? That they’re solid? Dependable? Dumb as rocks for giving him money better spent elsewhere..?
—
This plan of Will’s doesn’t sound that promising. Surely we don’t need to put Russell on stage with a bunch of clown candidates just to make him look electable. If he’s not electable in his own right, surely a cheap, obvious trick like that isn’t going to make much of a difference. There has to be a better way.
Josh would know what to do; what to say to him. He’d just tell Will that it’s moronic. He’d cut right through the bullshit. He’d talk to Russell, explain a better strategy and win him over. He’d…
Okay, stop it.
Actually no, this is good. Maybe I did learn some things I can use.
Just because he treated me like his personal slave most of the time…
Okay not good. Thinking about him again.
Also now imaging his face if I’d turned up dressed as Princess Leia in that gold bikini…
Who am I kidding? He’d have still just handed me a pile of files and asked me if I was wearing it to impress some other man. Then I’d have had the speech about Republican gomers, with some odd, derogatory Joshian twist on what sci-fi Republicans are in to…
And then he’d have given me his coat in case I was cold, while looking at me with that stupid puppy dog face, with the big eyes and dimpled smile and…
I’m a lost cause!
Stop thinking about this. Go. To. Sleep.
—
What if I’d waited?
Just a few days and he would have probably told me that he was thinking of running away to join – found and run! – the Santos circus.
What would I have done if he had? Would he have asked me to go with him? Would I have have walked away anyway?
My health insurance says yes. An actual paying job paid for those sessions Leo insisted I take. Those sessions that were really helpful in me not feeling like an over emotional fuck up any more.
I could have stayed in the White House. Things are still kinda weird with C.J. but she’d have found me a job.
The DCoS job would’ve been free! Now there’s a nice fantasy… the look on Josh’s face! C.J. would’ve wanted to be there for that. She’d have probably brought a camera…
Or, and let’s face it somewhat more realistically, Press Secretary. Could I do that? I could do better than most of those candidates Toby and I interviewed! Could I be C.J. and handle the press? Could I stand up there and face them down like she did? I don’t know, maybe…
Except that I’d have gone with him. If he’d asked me. I would’ve joined the circus too, and it would have been the worst choice I could have made.
His face is an open book sometimes. He was really surprised the other day that I had so much responsibility on this campaign. He wouldn’t have given me that. He wouldn’t have given me a proper job. I’d still be his assistant, only without a salary. I already did my time doing that!
But, on a small campaign, I could have proven myself as more than that. I could’ve found a way to make him see me as capable of more than that.
Because that strategy worked out really well for seven years!
What am I doing? He didn’t tell me. I’ll never know if it could have been different. This is how it is.
I’m liked and respected. I’m doing this job. I can do this job. Although probably better if I could just get some damn sleep!
—
Is that mould on the wall? Ew.
It’s sort of shaped like Virginia.
—
Maybe I should say something to Will about my worries about this?
He should be electable without turning this into a freak show.
This isn’t how it should be. It should be better than this.
—
Yes! Yawning. Yawning is good. It’s the stage before sleep. Perhaps if I try to yawn some more. Oh yeah, that’s it. Yawn. Yawn. Yawn.
Okay, so that’s not working.
—
Mandy. Cliff. Amy. Colin.
I should stop sleeping with people whose names start with C. Maybe that’s an important life lesson.
And Josh should stop sleeping with crazy women.
If only his name began with a C then I convince myself I don’t want to sleep with Josh.
And now I’m turning into a crazy woman!
—
One ass. Two asses. Three asses. Four… or does this only work with sheep? So why do I now see elephants in tutus? This is not helping!
—
Twelve plus six plus twelve.
I’ll bet that bastard is over there sleeping like a baby.
—
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz