Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore

“The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean.” – Robert Louis Stevenson

I awoke this morning with a strange sense of hope and warmth, having had a beautiful dream in which I fell in love with a man who was faceless, nameless…

In the dream, which, like most of my dreams, involved at least some tiny aspect of dancing-purple-hippo-strangeness, I had suddenly found out that I still had a lease on my old apartment, which was a shock.  I haven’t lived there in a year and signed a new lease on the current home.  But, contrary to reality, I made desperate attempts in my dream to decide what to do and where to end up.  Somewhere in that chaos (and also spilling over into the recurring dream involving my father’s childhood home on Waverly Ave in Watertown), I found love.  It wasn’t puppy love, or lust, or some fleeting moment of fancy.  It was….real.  It was promising.  It mattered not that this object of my affection had no form to him…no distinction as to his true identity.  What mattered the most was waking up without the old familiar fear that I have lost the ability to fall in love again.

And so I march on, not keeping my eyes open but keeping my heart in tune should I happen to hear the call.


December 9, 2008 - Posted by | Randomness


  1. Glad to see you signed your intro “Angie.” Ang or Angela never suited you anyway. At one point I was the only one who called you Angie. Now the world will know you by that name. Weird.

    It was fancinating reading the work of an author whose life I know a lot about. Although Abby’s story is fictional, every authors’ own life experiences make it into their work.

    It makes me very happy to see you showing everyone the talent that I’ve known you’ve had for a very long time

    Comment by Eric | October 31, 2008 | Reply

  2. Best yet!

    Comment by howard | November 10, 2008 | Reply

  3. Now that’s good.

    Comment by van | November 24, 2008 | Reply

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