My dream life and my waking life seem determined to be at odds with one another. Dreams that weave webs holding me in deep sleep reveling in their silken embrace seem tainted and full of thorns when I wake.
Even thinking back on them some part of my mind is soothed, it croons, my pulse quickens while the rest of me recoils in something near disgust. My cheeks flush, my heart races and I feel like I need to put my brain in the shower.
All of it from dreams that would, at most, be rated R and more likely PG13. Somehow I have become infected with Disney script writers in my subconscious. Short of the obligatory Disney need for parental death, my dreams could all easily be edited to fit into Anastasia or Beauty and the Beast (I'm the beast, btw). If we were going to keep the R rating, though, I suppose it gets a bit more interesting, but it's still horribly formulaic.
It's almost always Him in them. Mr. Accepting of all of my flaws, ready to love me regardless. He's quiet and contemplative, that nerd thing that so many intelligent women swoon over. A professorial countenance, with the awkwardness of a gangly young man, mixed with the promising glint of mischief in his eye. In short: smart, vulnerable, understanding, and fun.
Hmm, who should we cast for this part? A younger Gary Oldman, possibly? And what about my part, what actress should get my role. It's a dream, after all, so how about a chubby going on fat Jody Foster.
Ok, good, we have our two main characters. Let's put them on a cruise ship, each with an inattiventive significant other. Neither of them are married, but, perhaps not far from it.
The scene: A fairly nice bar, dark wood, a couple of portholes on the far side of the room that really look out on one of the decks. The room is nearly empty, post the dinner crowed and pre the night time clientel. A bored looking waitress folds napkins at a table and talks to the bartender who's slicing limes at the far end of the bar. The lights are dim, and there's a jazz ensemble taking their time setting up on the small stage.
She sits at the bar doodling on a napkin, a large mixed drink halfway gone near at hand. She's wearing a full length black skirt, a black raw silk tailored shirt open over a delicate lacy cream top with a scooped neck. Jewels glint from her left hand and right wrist. She is terribly over dressed and clearly a sad case.
He comes in wearing black pressed suit slacks, a crisp white shirt with wrinkles pressed into the back, the top button undone and his tie loosely knotted three buttons below it. He puts his dinner jacket over the back of the barstool and orders a beer.
And so they meet, and cheer each other up with a few shared smiles and noncommittal chit chat. It isn't anything of note, but there's a small spark and inwardly chastising herself for again noticing how the corer of the right side of his mouth goes up a moment before he smiles, how his hands look as he holds his beer...she finishes her drink and leaves.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
LoL Catz Dream
I am in a box, typing. The box is on a bed in a room I'm not familiar with.
I can see over his shoulder as we chat in IMs. I type to him about how odd my new vantage point is. In a moment of optimism, friendship, amusement I come out of the box and stand over him and say, "See, odd how close I am, isn't it?". He goes silent and I know I've screwed up. Damn it. I lamely try to joke, but his fingers are still on his keyboard.
I retreat, heartsick, back to my box. The four top flaps lay open. I change the background I'm sitting on, trying to find something to match my mood...something to ease that horrible feeling of having over stepped, having embarrassed myself and risked a friendship I thought was closer than it apparently was.
Eventually I give up and lay on my stomach, knees bent and ankles crossed behind me, on the bare cardboard. I dig up a pen, a blue ballpoint, and sooth myself with the feel of sliding the along the forgiving bottom of the box. A face starts to emerge as I sketch, nothing noteworthy, the kind of doodle so many envelope backs have seen before.
I can hear typing, he's moving again, I lay my head on my arm and watch the pen glide over the brown fur of the cardboard. I half hope for the ping that will mean he's typing to me, that this moment of awkwardness is passed. I listen to the tippity tap of finger pads on plastic letters and sigh to my core. Glancing over to the screen I wonder if I should log out, go do something else.
The room grows quiet, the incandesant overhead light goes out, and with a sinking heart I start to muster myself to look at the screen where I know I will now see his empty chair and dark monitor as my desktop. Closing my eyes in preperation to sitting up I feel a shadow cross over the top of the box.
I hold my breath, the feel of the shadow comes back, cast over me in the twilight of the room. Hesitant fingers touch my hair, I stumble over words as I whisper an apology. He asks what I'm drawing, I write "nothing" under the woman's face and he says he likes it.
I laugh tentitively, still feeling for where we stand. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wish I'd washed my hair before logging in, or changed out of my pajamas. I wonder what I would see if I were to turn and look into his face. What will his eyes hold? Curiosity over comes resurvation and I look up into familiar brown eyes.
It's quiet, he leans over the box, he's taller than I remember. One arm, the one that reached into my space...that touched my hair, rests on the lip of the box. I apologize again, he shakes his head and smiles, lips closed. It doesn't seem to reach his eyes, but that's ok, there's something else there to see. I offer a small smile, a truce. It's accepted with a look, he touches the arc my cheek with his thumb. A decision slowly forms behind his eyes...he bends over the lip of the box and I raise my head and he kisses me. It's not passionate, but it isn't chaste and I can see more waiting in his gaze. I lift my head up to him in acceptance of whatever is next.
Then quietly he whispers with a grin, "friendship fail"
I can see over his shoulder as we chat in IMs. I type to him about how odd my new vantage point is. In a moment of optimism, friendship, amusement I come out of the box and stand over him and say, "See, odd how close I am, isn't it?". He goes silent and I know I've screwed up. Damn it. I lamely try to joke, but his fingers are still on his keyboard.
I retreat, heartsick, back to my box. The four top flaps lay open. I change the background I'm sitting on, trying to find something to match my mood...something to ease that horrible feeling of having over stepped, having embarrassed myself and risked a friendship I thought was closer than it apparently was.
Eventually I give up and lay on my stomach, knees bent and ankles crossed behind me, on the bare cardboard. I dig up a pen, a blue ballpoint, and sooth myself with the feel of sliding the along the forgiving bottom of the box. A face starts to emerge as I sketch, nothing noteworthy, the kind of doodle so many envelope backs have seen before.
I can hear typing, he's moving again, I lay my head on my arm and watch the pen glide over the brown fur of the cardboard. I half hope for the ping that will mean he's typing to me, that this moment of awkwardness is passed. I listen to the tippity tap of finger pads on plastic letters and sigh to my core. Glancing over to the screen I wonder if I should log out, go do something else.
The room grows quiet, the incandesant overhead light goes out, and with a sinking heart I start to muster myself to look at the screen where I know I will now see his empty chair and dark monitor as my desktop. Closing my eyes in preperation to sitting up I feel a shadow cross over the top of the box.
I hold my breath, the feel of the shadow comes back, cast over me in the twilight of the room. Hesitant fingers touch my hair, I stumble over words as I whisper an apology. He asks what I'm drawing, I write "nothing" under the woman's face and he says he likes it.
I laugh tentitively, still feeling for where we stand. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wish I'd washed my hair before logging in, or changed out of my pajamas. I wonder what I would see if I were to turn and look into his face. What will his eyes hold? Curiosity over comes resurvation and I look up into familiar brown eyes.
It's quiet, he leans over the box, he's taller than I remember. One arm, the one that reached into my space...that touched my hair, rests on the lip of the box. I apologize again, he shakes his head and smiles, lips closed. It doesn't seem to reach his eyes, but that's ok, there's something else there to see. I offer a small smile, a truce. It's accepted with a look, he touches the arc my cheek with his thumb. A decision slowly forms behind his eyes...he bends over the lip of the box and I raise my head and he kisses me. It's not passionate, but it isn't chaste and I can see more waiting in his gaze. I lift my head up to him in acceptance of whatever is next.
Then quietly he whispers with a grin, "friendship fail"
Friday, February 6, 2009
Not Ever Again
I will not be bound.
You can not tie my hands just because you feel secure when your own are securely twisted behind your back.
I will not go backwards in my life. I will not let the insanity that has surrounded me suck me back into its greedy vortex.
I will not accept responsibility for someone else's choice, mistakes, or perversions. I will not be accountable to anyone on this Earth for what others do. And I will not say "I have brought this upon myself" or feel guilt when another being chooses to inflict themselves upon me.
I will not be anyone's whipping boy or stand idly by while a wrong is being committed to another.
I will live a life devout to my morals, to my truths...but I will not brandish them before others as better.
I will let go of you rather than walk a path along with you that I know will damage me. But I will wait for you where we parted and if you need me, I will be there.
There are places in this life only God can walk with you, but you are never alone, nor am I. Not only is He there forever and always, but if we take the time to look outside of ourselves we will see the shadows of so many others who also walk a narrow path of thorns. How powerful would all of those souls be if they looked up and saw one another...if they linked arms, and leaning on one another rose up above their narrow paths into something so much greater.
We are all capable of great good and great evil, but it is our choice which one we work toward. Each action is our own, our responsibility, and if we hurt another with that action then it is to us to try and mend the wound. To turn callously and selfishly aside from someone your deeds or words have harmed is to turn toward a much darker path.
I think, for those who choose selfishness the world must be very small and cramped. I see them walking hunched over through a tunnel of brambles, hugging themselves, with eyes full of hate for all that surrounds them. Though, it isn't the brambles fault that they have thorns and if the hateful soul were only to walk more slowly, and move the branches with more care they would find the sky above them.
I am not suggesting I am always able to see the sky or that I have not walked that narrow lonely path of thorns, but I will not let you take me there. Not ever again.
You can not tie my hands just because you feel secure when your own are securely twisted behind your back.
I will not go backwards in my life. I will not let the insanity that has surrounded me suck me back into its greedy vortex.
I will not accept responsibility for someone else's choice, mistakes, or perversions. I will not be accountable to anyone on this Earth for what others do. And I will not say "I have brought this upon myself" or feel guilt when another being chooses to inflict themselves upon me.
I will not be anyone's whipping boy or stand idly by while a wrong is being committed to another.
I will live a life devout to my morals, to my truths...but I will not brandish them before others as better.
I will let go of you rather than walk a path along with you that I know will damage me. But I will wait for you where we parted and if you need me, I will be there.
There are places in this life only God can walk with you, but you are never alone, nor am I. Not only is He there forever and always, but if we take the time to look outside of ourselves we will see the shadows of so many others who also walk a narrow path of thorns. How powerful would all of those souls be if they looked up and saw one another...if they linked arms, and leaning on one another rose up above their narrow paths into something so much greater.
We are all capable of great good and great evil, but it is our choice which one we work toward. Each action is our own, our responsibility, and if we hurt another with that action then it is to us to try and mend the wound. To turn callously and selfishly aside from someone your deeds or words have harmed is to turn toward a much darker path.
I think, for those who choose selfishness the world must be very small and cramped. I see them walking hunched over through a tunnel of brambles, hugging themselves, with eyes full of hate for all that surrounds them. Though, it isn't the brambles fault that they have thorns and if the hateful soul were only to walk more slowly, and move the branches with more care they would find the sky above them.
I am not suggesting I am always able to see the sky or that I have not walked that narrow lonely path of thorns, but I will not let you take me there. Not ever again.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Friday, December 19, 2008
Once upon a time
It's that time of year again where the veil between adult reality and childhood fantasy thins, giving us glimpses of the long forgotten and the wholly cherished.
As a parent Christmas morphs into something even more meaningful, more complex, more important, and vastly more simple.
I've had a few "episodes" as the holiday stress has gotten to me, or when I'm gifted by my children (as I so often am) with massive crises. The children are getting more comfortable with my malfunctioning brain. For them it is just another new thing to be adapted into our lives, like getting a new car, or changing the carpet. They know I love them and that so long as I'm careful I won't go back to the hospital. I take my "shaking medicine" when it gets bad, and they seem to be pleased there's something I can do to make it lessen if not stop entirely.
I try to remember I am their guide while they are my teachers. The idea makes me think of the intricately knotted grasses the girls would make in Ireland. Loose braids and knots that are almost soothing to look at as the different lengths and kinds of grass twist and blend together until they all become part of a single piece.
Perhaps that's how I see family in the idyllic part of my mind. It is a constantly moving blend of unique colors that fit in and out and through one another so that, where each is its own, following a single thread of color would be impossible.
Ah, my time's up. I foresee cuddling and watching TV (well, Netflix through the xbox) in the glow of the collage of family history that surrounds us in the Christmas room.
As a parent Christmas morphs into something even more meaningful, more complex, more important, and vastly more simple.
I've had a few "episodes" as the holiday stress has gotten to me, or when I'm gifted by my children (as I so often am) with massive crises. The children are getting more comfortable with my malfunctioning brain. For them it is just another new thing to be adapted into our lives, like getting a new car, or changing the carpet. They know I love them and that so long as I'm careful I won't go back to the hospital. I take my "shaking medicine" when it gets bad, and they seem to be pleased there's something I can do to make it lessen if not stop entirely.
I try to remember I am their guide while they are my teachers. The idea makes me think of the intricately knotted grasses the girls would make in Ireland. Loose braids and knots that are almost soothing to look at as the different lengths and kinds of grass twist and blend together until they all become part of a single piece.
Perhaps that's how I see family in the idyllic part of my mind. It is a constantly moving blend of unique colors that fit in and out and through one another so that, where each is its own, following a single thread of color would be impossible.
Ah, my time's up. I foresee cuddling and watching TV (well, Netflix through the xbox) in the glow of the collage of family history that surrounds us in the Christmas room.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Sleep
Today I'm tired. That kind of tired that clings to you like the sock out of the dryer on the back of your good shirt. It's out of place and slightly uncomfortable, and you just can't quite reach it.
I've started dreaming again, those frighteningly vivid dreams that blur the line between reality and fantasy. Most of them seem pleasant while I'm sleeping, so much so I don't want to wake up. I want to stay wrapped in the tentacles of something that wouldn't make any sense if I were to open my eyes and try and retell the broken time line and twisted logic that all make such perfect sense while I'm still asleep.
They leave me feeling as though I've been at least partly awake all night. I attend long complicated parties in my dreams, with people who do and don't exist. The social politics are an unseen bog littered with hidden snakes and even occasional treasure. Sometimes it's a ball in some far away fanciful castle in a time that doesn't and hasn't ever existed. Sometimes it's a mystery with all the wonderful trappings of the best of Film Noir. Often people I know and love make cameos, and occasionally they may play a supporting part, and only rarely do they get above title billing.
Last night had something to do with making greeting cards for a friend...and an old ababdoned parking lot surrounded by vast expanses of flat fields of delicate yellow flowers. There was a sense of being excited and proud of the cards I'd made and then, in the moment of finally getting to give them feeling the need to explain my intentions, but being limited by a childish vocabulary.
I wonder what tonight will bring, if I even make it that far. Today may be a day of dream filled naps for me. My eyes keep closing on their own.
I've started dreaming again, those frighteningly vivid dreams that blur the line between reality and fantasy. Most of them seem pleasant while I'm sleeping, so much so I don't want to wake up. I want to stay wrapped in the tentacles of something that wouldn't make any sense if I were to open my eyes and try and retell the broken time line and twisted logic that all make such perfect sense while I'm still asleep.
They leave me feeling as though I've been at least partly awake all night. I attend long complicated parties in my dreams, with people who do and don't exist. The social politics are an unseen bog littered with hidden snakes and even occasional treasure. Sometimes it's a ball in some far away fanciful castle in a time that doesn't and hasn't ever existed. Sometimes it's a mystery with all the wonderful trappings of the best of Film Noir. Often people I know and love make cameos, and occasionally they may play a supporting part, and only rarely do they get above title billing.
Last night had something to do with making greeting cards for a friend...and an old ababdoned parking lot surrounded by vast expanses of flat fields of delicate yellow flowers. There was a sense of being excited and proud of the cards I'd made and then, in the moment of finally getting to give them feeling the need to explain my intentions, but being limited by a childish vocabulary.
I wonder what tonight will bring, if I even make it that far. Today may be a day of dream filled naps for me. My eyes keep closing on their own.
Friday, October 10, 2008
In the Information Age
So far we have:
Wolfie
lil'Wolfie
Lesli
Kassha
Mrs. Kassha
Zelrig
& Nob
Last night was when it all started, and like so many things, it all happened at once. The downstairs toilet started backing up and gracefully rolling raw sewage onto floor, which then traveled in a slow but determined manner into the laundry room...giving all the dirty clothes on the floor that extra push towards needing to be washed right away!, and eventually meandering into the kitchen where things like raw sewage are enemies to be vanquished as quickly as possible. Of course, an after-hours emergency call to a plumber couldn't be the end of all that seemed to happen at once.
The middle child needed retrieving from football practice leaving me with the incessantly barking huge dog, the strange snake-bearing man in my front yard, the 2 other children, and the impending delivery of a pizza.
The pizza made its appearance just as the husband and middle son arrived, adding to the bedlam. As I juggled dogs, an excited son who wanted to tell me all about his day, a daughter who kept wandering off as I was trying to hand her pizzas & drinks, a husband who was attempting to get past me to get into the house, aaaand sign and tip the delivery guy the phone, of course, started to ring.
After getting everyone and thing into the house the husband answred it. Woohoo! An oppertunity to take part in a Town Hall meeting with our Congressman. I knew what this meant to him, so I assured him I could handle everything else. Which I managed fairly well, really. Lesli called to say she was on her way, the snake-bearing plumbing guy walked in and seemed as shocked to see me as I was to see him (mostly I was surprised by his youth and his openness...my fears of the stranger evaporated). While juggling the Town Hall on the phone the husband found some plumbing access point that had been expertly squirrelled away under the front bushes and the ivy ground cover. This avoided major surgy on the house's plumbing and, instead, it underwent an outpatient procedure (saving us a few hundred dollars along the way).
The plumber left, happy not to have had to come in to the house of children, computer games, and barking dogs just before Lesli arrived.
It would be hard to exagerate how grateful I am for her. She's a remarkable woman in her own right, and has a large gentle and kind heart. I remember her coming in, I remember going into the living room to try and help fold laundry and to tell her the goodnews about Little Man (after all, I think a lot of the confidence he found in reading came from her private lessons)...the next thing I remember is counting by twos, somewhere around 60, I think. Lesli was hugging me from behind, leaned awkwardly over the back of my office chair. The numbers didn't come easily, but she helped. I had a moment of being embarassed, even though I knew it wasn't a bad attack...but I dismissed it quickly, I didn't have any energy for being embarassed. We talked a bit while I came out of it and when she went to help the husband herd the children towards bed he came in to see if I was ok with her having seen that, and with her help. I had another moment of wondering if I should have been ok with it, or if I should be ashamed. I am ok, though...my friend saw the truth. She didn't run away, she still loves me...maybe loves me more since she can understand a bit more now. God gives us gifts of light even in the darkest of shadows, we just have to be willing to open our eyes and see beyond the black that seems to hover before our eyes.
I know she left at somepoint to go get Nob from the airport, and I went to bed. I took a mildly dodgy combonantion of meds, but after reading on the Net I'm certain it was well within the safe zone.
I woke this morning to my wonderful husband and the dogs, well, dogpiling me. His kisses tasted of coffee, which definately helped me shake off the last of the cobwebs. I went downstairs and said goodmorning to Nob while the husband brought me a cup of coffee.
*sigh* Unfortunately, I'm suddenly tired and I'm meant to be recouping before even more people show up. Everyone went to dinner without me, and no one made a fuss about it...which was wonderful! Some of these people are really good friends.
Hooray for the Information Age
Wolfie
lil'Wolfie
Lesli
Kassha
Mrs. Kassha
Zelrig
& Nob
Last night was when it all started, and like so many things, it all happened at once. The downstairs toilet started backing up and gracefully rolling raw sewage onto floor, which then traveled in a slow but determined manner into the laundry room...giving all the dirty clothes on the floor that extra push towards needing to be washed right away!, and eventually meandering into the kitchen where things like raw sewage are enemies to be vanquished as quickly as possible. Of course, an after-hours emergency call to a plumber couldn't be the end of all that seemed to happen at once.
The middle child needed retrieving from football practice leaving me with the incessantly barking huge dog, the strange snake-bearing man in my front yard, the 2 other children, and the impending delivery of a pizza.
The pizza made its appearance just as the husband and middle son arrived, adding to the bedlam. As I juggled dogs, an excited son who wanted to tell me all about his day, a daughter who kept wandering off as I was trying to hand her pizzas & drinks, a husband who was attempting to get past me to get into the house, aaaand sign and tip the delivery guy the phone, of course, started to ring.
After getting everyone and thing into the house the husband answred it. Woohoo! An oppertunity to take part in a Town Hall meeting with our Congressman. I knew what this meant to him, so I assured him I could handle everything else. Which I managed fairly well, really. Lesli called to say she was on her way, the snake-bearing plumbing guy walked in and seemed as shocked to see me as I was to see him (mostly I was surprised by his youth and his openness...my fears of the stranger evaporated). While juggling the Town Hall on the phone the husband found some plumbing access point that had been expertly squirrelled away under the front bushes and the ivy ground cover. This avoided major surgy on the house's plumbing and, instead, it underwent an outpatient procedure (saving us a few hundred dollars along the way).
The plumber left, happy not to have had to come in to the house of children, computer games, and barking dogs just before Lesli arrived.
It would be hard to exagerate how grateful I am for her. She's a remarkable woman in her own right, and has a large gentle and kind heart. I remember her coming in, I remember going into the living room to try and help fold laundry and to tell her the goodnews about Little Man (after all, I think a lot of the confidence he found in reading came from her private lessons)...the next thing I remember is counting by twos, somewhere around 60, I think. Lesli was hugging me from behind, leaned awkwardly over the back of my office chair. The numbers didn't come easily, but she helped. I had a moment of being embarassed, even though I knew it wasn't a bad attack...but I dismissed it quickly, I didn't have any energy for being embarassed. We talked a bit while I came out of it and when she went to help the husband herd the children towards bed he came in to see if I was ok with her having seen that, and with her help. I had another moment of wondering if I should have been ok with it, or if I should be ashamed. I am ok, though...my friend saw the truth. She didn't run away, she still loves me...maybe loves me more since she can understand a bit more now. God gives us gifts of light even in the darkest of shadows, we just have to be willing to open our eyes and see beyond the black that seems to hover before our eyes.
I know she left at somepoint to go get Nob from the airport, and I went to bed. I took a mildly dodgy combonantion of meds, but after reading on the Net I'm certain it was well within the safe zone.
I woke this morning to my wonderful husband and the dogs, well, dogpiling me. His kisses tasted of coffee, which definately helped me shake off the last of the cobwebs. I went downstairs and said goodmorning to Nob while the husband brought me a cup of coffee.
*sigh* Unfortunately, I'm suddenly tired and I'm meant to be recouping before even more people show up. Everyone went to dinner without me, and no one made a fuss about it...which was wonderful! Some of these people are really good friends.
Hooray for the Information Age
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)