That's the sound of me hitting the wall.
Ugh.
Up at 4:27 this morning.
Once I got rid of used water, I figured there was no point in going back to bed.
I stayed up.
Had a visit with the podiatrist this morning in the middle of the time I should have been napping, so I missed my nap.
I know, old ladies and their naps. Geez.
I dreamed about ants. We had ants about two inches long all over the house. Infesting the carpets, nooks and crannies and drawers and anywhere they could hide.
They were a dusky red color, and when you held one up to a light source, you could see their abdomens were filled with a clear jelly. We decided that we had to do something, since they were all over the house, and adopted three anteaters.
We named them Dyson, Hoover, and Kirby.
They were quite effective on the ants, but made an annoying slurping noise while they were eating.
We enjoyed walking them on their leashes. Many people commented on how cute they were and asked questions about what they eat (ants, duh) and do they shed (no, these ones were armor plated and hairless... duh again) and do they make noise. (see above note about the slurping noises.)
Dyson, Hoover and Kirby.
Even in my dreams I crack me up.
The kids were crabby as hell today. Mean is their favorite sport right now. I spent most of my afternoon telling Timmy* that he needed to keep his hands to himself and Mia* that it wasn't necessary to kick the boys/stomp on their feet. She wants to prove she's as tough as a boy.
There is a family event this weekend at the school, so my entire program had to be put away in the back room this evening. It will be a gigantic pain in the ass on Monday morning when I have to get there a little early to haul things out for the kids to do.
My nose is still a little snotty, my brain is tired and I'm ready for bed.
How are things in your world?
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Friday, May 01, 2015
Monday, November 04, 2013
Dream Me.
I've always had vivid dreams. Lots and lots of them. Things that would have been a nightmare as a child are now (mostly) fascinating voyages, although I do still have dreams that leave me breathless and trembling and afraid to get out of bed to pee.
It takes a few minutes for me to be coherent after one of those.
If you visit this post My dream girl you may wonder about my sanity. Then you might go here... and be certain that I've totally lost it.
Or maybe here
Then you might really start to wonder about me! Although as I was looking those posts up, I stopped to read them. I am not bad as a writer!
And reading back over those posts brought all the emotions and fear and thoughts of strength/protectiveness back to me. Strange how dreams can affect you.
It's interesting to me that in many of the more... deep dreams I have, I am cast in the role of the protector of children. Keeping them safe, willing to do whatever I must to guard them. I have surprised myself with the anger and capability to be violent in their defense. I have hacked and stabbed and hit and bit and screamed and torn people apart with bare hands. And when it was over, and I stood covered with gore and sweaty and still flushed with anger, I've felt triumphant and vindicated and willing to do it all over again if needed.
It doesn't take a psychiatrist to figure out why I'm protecting kids in my dreams, of course.
I've always had a love for fantasy and science fiction, although I'm really particular about what I read. Often I've heard that this book or that is wonderful. I go and get the book. I read it.
And I'm left disappointed.
Ender's Game is one of those.
Lots of hype over the movie will mean that the author will undoubtedly sell more copies of the story.
And I can't figure out why.
But that's me.
Digressing.
Surprise.
So between 6 and 9 this morning, I had a long, detailed dream. It's odd. There are some dreams that stay in a place I can recall them (EVERY detail, nuance, smell...) forever.
This was one of those.
I was the guardian of four little boys of royal descent. One was an infant about four months old, the oldest maybe five years. There was a battle going on, and I had to take them to a safe place. It was left to me to decide where that safe place would be. I sat in on the council meeting, and it somehow ended up that the only person who knew where the boys would go was me. I packed them in the cargo container myself. They were sleeping and wouldn't wake up until their arrival.
So strange.
I was also there to receive the container, so evidently I left the original planet well ahead of the boys.
We ended up at a sort of far-out commune sort of thing. Not far out in the hippie sense... but on an outlying planet that was part of the system.
Enclosed in a building. Four stories above ground and at least 20 below. I did not have occasion to go to the lowest levels during the dream.
When the cargo ship carrying the boys arrived, I was at the docks to meet it. The container wasn't addressed to me personally, but to the science department.
The bored steward handed me the cargo manifest to sign. I looked at all the shipping containers (here it is!!) for approximately the same amount of time (counting in my head one, two, three, four, five) and pretended to care if they were all accounted for, scrawled an illegible signature and made a comment about the weather. Endeavored to be forgettable. It seemed to work. He paid no attention to me at all.
I unpacked my boys. Hugs all around. We settled into life as part of the collective, eating group meals, participating in work for the collective. I wasn't assigned to child care, instead working in a lab, analyzing parasitic life forms and trying to help keep everyone healthy on a planet that wasn't meant for human life. (No, I don't know anything about that stuff. It was a dream! Don't you know that in my regular life I would be assigned to child care?? I have no doubt I could come up with a craft project made from space garbage as easily as I do from regular trash.)
By the time 'they' came looking for the boys, they were.. assimilated. Part of the group of kids. Their hair had grown out, they were dressed like all the other children, they all ran and played and learned and were cared for. I wore the baby until he learned to walk, then he went to care every day with the rest of the children.
There was an entire subterranean level devoted to gardening/farming. Lights that looked like natural sunlight. A playground. A place of learning, although it wasn't school. It was more like a place to exercise their minds. A lot of toys, building tools, sewing supplies, a room with paint and canvas and space to paint. Places for them to run. To swim. To climb.
The refugee status of more than a third of the population made it difficult for the questioners who were wandering all through the colony...everyone knew new people, and more than 200 had arrived the same day as my boys. We'd been there for several months, not sure how long.
We were producing some sort of war machines, but they were bright yellow. Nope, no subterfuge here. Everyone inspecting thought the parts we were shipping were farm equipment. We were under constant scrutiny and being rebellious anyway.
There's more, equally... derivative. My brain has obviously kept a great deal of the sci fi I used to devour constantly. It was a fascinating dream though because I was in it. Part of the story. Sometimes when I dream, I realize I'm dreaming and can direct things a bit. This one was completely out of my control. I didn't even know it was a dream. It just... was.
I woke up twice. Both times I got up to pee and blow my nose, and when I got back in my warm bed, I was instantly asleep again. And right back where I left off.
Unfortunately I eventually woke all the way up and wasn't able to get back to it, so I don't know what happened to my kids.
But I've worried over them all day long as if it were real.
And no. I have not consumed any cold medicine. Perhaps I should!
It takes a few minutes for me to be coherent after one of those.
If you visit this post My dream girl you may wonder about my sanity. Then you might go here... and be certain that I've totally lost it.
Or maybe here
Then you might really start to wonder about me! Although as I was looking those posts up, I stopped to read them. I am not bad as a writer!
And reading back over those posts brought all the emotions and fear and thoughts of strength/protectiveness back to me. Strange how dreams can affect you.
It's interesting to me that in many of the more... deep dreams I have, I am cast in the role of the protector of children. Keeping them safe, willing to do whatever I must to guard them. I have surprised myself with the anger and capability to be violent in their defense. I have hacked and stabbed and hit and bit and screamed and torn people apart with bare hands. And when it was over, and I stood covered with gore and sweaty and still flushed with anger, I've felt triumphant and vindicated and willing to do it all over again if needed.
It doesn't take a psychiatrist to figure out why I'm protecting kids in my dreams, of course.
I've always had a love for fantasy and science fiction, although I'm really particular about what I read. Often I've heard that this book or that is wonderful. I go and get the book. I read it.
And I'm left disappointed.
Ender's Game is one of those.
Lots of hype over the movie will mean that the author will undoubtedly sell more copies of the story.
And I can't figure out why.
But that's me.
Digressing.
Surprise.
So between 6 and 9 this morning, I had a long, detailed dream. It's odd. There are some dreams that stay in a place I can recall them (EVERY detail, nuance, smell...) forever.
This was one of those.
I was the guardian of four little boys of royal descent. One was an infant about four months old, the oldest maybe five years. There was a battle going on, and I had to take them to a safe place. It was left to me to decide where that safe place would be. I sat in on the council meeting, and it somehow ended up that the only person who knew where the boys would go was me. I packed them in the cargo container myself. They were sleeping and wouldn't wake up until their arrival.
So strange.
I was also there to receive the container, so evidently I left the original planet well ahead of the boys.
We ended up at a sort of far-out commune sort of thing. Not far out in the hippie sense... but on an outlying planet that was part of the system.
Enclosed in a building. Four stories above ground and at least 20 below. I did not have occasion to go to the lowest levels during the dream.
When the cargo ship carrying the boys arrived, I was at the docks to meet it. The container wasn't addressed to me personally, but to the science department.
The bored steward handed me the cargo manifest to sign. I looked at all the shipping containers (here it is!!) for approximately the same amount of time (counting in my head one, two, three, four, five) and pretended to care if they were all accounted for, scrawled an illegible signature and made a comment about the weather. Endeavored to be forgettable. It seemed to work. He paid no attention to me at all.
I unpacked my boys. Hugs all around. We settled into life as part of the collective, eating group meals, participating in work for the collective. I wasn't assigned to child care, instead working in a lab, analyzing parasitic life forms and trying to help keep everyone healthy on a planet that wasn't meant for human life. (No, I don't know anything about that stuff. It was a dream! Don't you know that in my regular life I would be assigned to child care?? I have no doubt I could come up with a craft project made from space garbage as easily as I do from regular trash.)
By the time 'they' came looking for the boys, they were.. assimilated. Part of the group of kids. Their hair had grown out, they were dressed like all the other children, they all ran and played and learned and were cared for. I wore the baby until he learned to walk, then he went to care every day with the rest of the children.
There was an entire subterranean level devoted to gardening/farming. Lights that looked like natural sunlight. A playground. A place of learning, although it wasn't school. It was more like a place to exercise their minds. A lot of toys, building tools, sewing supplies, a room with paint and canvas and space to paint. Places for them to run. To swim. To climb.
The refugee status of more than a third of the population made it difficult for the questioners who were wandering all through the colony...everyone knew new people, and more than 200 had arrived the same day as my boys. We'd been there for several months, not sure how long.
We were producing some sort of war machines, but they were bright yellow. Nope, no subterfuge here. Everyone inspecting thought the parts we were shipping were farm equipment. We were under constant scrutiny and being rebellious anyway.
There's more, equally... derivative. My brain has obviously kept a great deal of the sci fi I used to devour constantly. It was a fascinating dream though because I was in it. Part of the story. Sometimes when I dream, I realize I'm dreaming and can direct things a bit. This one was completely out of my control. I didn't even know it was a dream. It just... was.
I woke up twice. Both times I got up to pee and blow my nose, and when I got back in my warm bed, I was instantly asleep again. And right back where I left off.
Unfortunately I eventually woke all the way up and wasn't able to get back to it, so I don't know what happened to my kids.
But I've worried over them all day long as if it were real.
And no. I have not consumed any cold medicine. Perhaps I should!
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Disjointed Dreams
I didn't write a post last night before bed. Headache kept coming back on me and is actually creeping back up now, as I start typing. Don't go 'way, I am going to grab a migraine pill before I go any further.
Ah. Back. Now I wait an hour for it to kick in. And then when I get into the shower I'll feel like I have a sunburn everywhere the water touches. It's strange to be in the embrace of a monster. :)
Slept more or less like a brick... when I was sleeping. Problem being headache and hormones and every two hour trips to the bathroom because of those things.
I have recurring themes to my dreams, often being cast in the role of protector of children. One doesn't have to look too far to figure that one out, I'm sure.
Most of the time the circumstances I find myself in are reasonable and possible, but occasionally I find myself in a situation for which no one could ever be completely prepared... a crash landing of a jet in the field beyond the play structure, some kind of monster roaring through the halls and smashing a series of doors to get to me and my kids, hiding in a tiny room (I always wake up before it reaches us... shaking and sweaty and panicky... mixed feelings about waking up, the desire to find out WHAT HAPPENED and are the kids safe?? squaring off against relief that I woke up before IT happened.)
I dreamed that Eric decided to be some sort of counselor, too. (He'd actually be really good at that...)
And the person he was supposed to see on a Thursday afternoon showed up early on a Sunday morning, and didn't like our chairs, so I got out a new one and some tools and was putting one together for her. I was a little crabby about it, and gritted my teeth. Broke off the right front one. Another recurring theme, really. Teeth breaking off. Not sure why.
I also dream of repeatedly dialing the telephone and not being able to get the numbers punched in correctly.
Over and over and over.
It's funny if you think about that word, dialing... since we haven't had dial telephones in, well, forever. Just a holdover from a different era.
Anyway, it's always a familiar but unfamiliar phone and I can't find a way to clear the error and have to hang up and start dialing again. Frustrating, and there's always some urgency to the phone call that makes the delay worse.
About 3, I dreamed that I had to go to the bathroom and that I was in a huge crowd of people somewhere outdoors. I couldn't find a bathroom anywhere. I looked for a line of people, thinking that maybe at the front of the line, I'd find what I was looking for, but the only line of people I saw were waiting for tie dyed socks, being produced by a little man in a tiny booth. They weren't even as good as my socks, either, and he was getting 8 bucks a pair for them!!
Then I woke up to go to the bathroom. Ha.
So I remember bits and pieces of other dreams, and repeatedly surfacing from sleep, but I feel pretty decent this morning anyway.
Except for the headache, but if it goes according to pattern, this is the last day for this month's 'gift' from my hormones.
Ah. Back. Now I wait an hour for it to kick in. And then when I get into the shower I'll feel like I have a sunburn everywhere the water touches. It's strange to be in the embrace of a monster. :)
Slept more or less like a brick... when I was sleeping. Problem being headache and hormones and every two hour trips to the bathroom because of those things.
I have recurring themes to my dreams, often being cast in the role of protector of children. One doesn't have to look too far to figure that one out, I'm sure.
Most of the time the circumstances I find myself in are reasonable and possible, but occasionally I find myself in a situation for which no one could ever be completely prepared... a crash landing of a jet in the field beyond the play structure, some kind of monster roaring through the halls and smashing a series of doors to get to me and my kids, hiding in a tiny room (I always wake up before it reaches us... shaking and sweaty and panicky... mixed feelings about waking up, the desire to find out WHAT HAPPENED and are the kids safe?? squaring off against relief that I woke up before IT happened.)
I dreamed that Eric decided to be some sort of counselor, too. (He'd actually be really good at that...)
And the person he was supposed to see on a Thursday afternoon showed up early on a Sunday morning, and didn't like our chairs, so I got out a new one and some tools and was putting one together for her. I was a little crabby about it, and gritted my teeth. Broke off the right front one. Another recurring theme, really. Teeth breaking off. Not sure why.
I also dream of repeatedly dialing the telephone and not being able to get the numbers punched in correctly.
Over and over and over.
It's funny if you think about that word, dialing... since we haven't had dial telephones in, well, forever. Just a holdover from a different era.
Anyway, it's always a familiar but unfamiliar phone and I can't find a way to clear the error and have to hang up and start dialing again. Frustrating, and there's always some urgency to the phone call that makes the delay worse.
About 3, I dreamed that I had to go to the bathroom and that I was in a huge crowd of people somewhere outdoors. I couldn't find a bathroom anywhere. I looked for a line of people, thinking that maybe at the front of the line, I'd find what I was looking for, but the only line of people I saw were waiting for tie dyed socks, being produced by a little man in a tiny booth. They weren't even as good as my socks, either, and he was getting 8 bucks a pair for them!!
Then I woke up to go to the bathroom. Ha.
So I remember bits and pieces of other dreams, and repeatedly surfacing from sleep, but I feel pretty decent this morning anyway.
Except for the headache, but if it goes according to pattern, this is the last day for this month's 'gift' from my hormones.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
VIRUS!!
Everyone* forwards computer virus information to me.
Aside from being immediately recognizable from the Fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: in the subject line, it's easy to spot the virus alert emails because they almost always start with a disclaimer about how 'I checked this at Snopes and it's the REAL DEAL.'
* my mother
But when I turned on my computer about 2 AM on Thursday and came face to face with the Mongol Virus, I was disappointed that no one* had thought to warn me.
*my mother
First, the screen went black. There was the noise of a muffled explosion, and an echo of it in my ears. Then, a bit of black and greasy smoke billowed out of my computer screen.
The image of an ugly-assed man with yellow teeth, oily and stringy hair, filthy wool hat and scraggly beard filled my screen. He laughed in a deep, gravelly voice and belched.
A horrendous stench, compounded of dirty male person, dead, rotting meat and smoke filled the air around the monitor.
What the hell?????
I yelled for my resident geek.
"Matt!!! Matt!!!"
He came in, took one look at the screen, smacked himself in the forehead and growled.
"Aaaarggh!!! FUCK! You've got the Mongol virus!!!"
I was watching him work on the computer when I woke up and realized I'd been dreaming.
And I have to confess to being a little nervous when I pushed the button to turn it on in the morning. But it seems to be working okay.
But wouldn't it be sort of cool if there really were such a thing as the Mongol Virus? Complete with smells etc?
Aside from being immediately recognizable from the Fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: in the subject line, it's easy to spot the virus alert emails because they almost always start with a disclaimer about how 'I checked this at Snopes and it's the REAL DEAL.'
* my mother
But when I turned on my computer about 2 AM on Thursday and came face to face with the Mongol Virus, I was disappointed that no one* had thought to warn me.
*my mother
First, the screen went black. There was the noise of a muffled explosion, and an echo of it in my ears. Then, a bit of black and greasy smoke billowed out of my computer screen.
The image of an ugly-assed man with yellow teeth, oily and stringy hair, filthy wool hat and scraggly beard filled my screen. He laughed in a deep, gravelly voice and belched.
A horrendous stench, compounded of dirty male person, dead, rotting meat and smoke filled the air around the monitor.
What the hell?????
I yelled for my resident geek.
"Matt!!! Matt!!!"
He came in, took one look at the screen, smacked himself in the forehead and growled.
"Aaaarggh!!! FUCK! You've got the Mongol virus!!!"
I was watching him work on the computer when I woke up and realized I'd been dreaming.
And I have to confess to being a little nervous when I pushed the button to turn it on in the morning. But it seems to be working okay.
But wouldn't it be sort of cool if there really were such a thing as the Mongol Virus? Complete with smells etc?
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
What's in your head?
Had a long and fascinating conversation with my imaginary friend Portia this evening.
We talked quite a bit about dreams.
I won't tell you hers, because they're hers. But I can tell you about some of mine.
Do you remember My Dream Girl ?
I have seen her in my dreams again and again. It's always the same little one .
I've had her with me a long, long time.
Longer than my own children, really.
I first met her when I was about 14 years old, in a dream that stayed with me for days. I had taken her from a man who was hitting her. I stole her from her crib in the middle of the night because I knew the man was hurting her. (He was not her father but I don't know how I knew that.)
I can still remember bathing her in a big metal tub, dabbing with a warm washrag at some of the dried blood on her skin, and crying over the hand-shaped bruises on her back and her legs.
I promised her I'd keep her safe, and took her to a grandmother somewhere in a forest. The details are sketchy because I dreamed it so long ago, but I remember her clinging to my neck as we passed through crowds of people, then her seeing the face of the grandmother and willingly holding out her little arms to her. She went to the grandmother without another glance at me.
I went back to where I'd found her to confront the man who'd hurt her. He beat me up (broken teeth, cuts on my face, split in my scalp and a huge rip in my neck) and I thought I was going to die for having taken her, but I got away from him and grabbed a knife.
He paused, watching for a weakness. A sign that I was... wavering.
But I knew I'd kill him if he hit me again.
I was ready to for sure. I wanted to. I wanted to see him bleed. I wanted to cause him pain. I remember gesturing to him come try to hit me again, you bastard when several people came through windows and doors into the small home we were in and took him down.
He was dragged away, growling like an animal by a group of men in tan clothing.
I knew that he would be killed immediately, and that the fierce joy I felt over that wasn't approved by the people around me, who weren't really people at all. I don't know what they were. They looked human, but they didn't feel that way.
He would be killed, but not in anger. It would be destroying a broken clock or a damaged pot. There was regret on their faces as they dragged him up the hill toward a cave. It was a chore they didn't want to do.
A man and two women treated my wounds, one of them crying as she stitched up my scalp. I don't know how they communicated, but somehow it was decided that I would be escorted to go see the child, and then sent home.
And I was. I was able to hold her, to see that her wounds had healed, and to feel the warmth of her spirit bathing the people around her. She was something special, but I don't know who or what she was. She was just a child who needed me.
I remember waking up from that dream feeling sad that I had to leave her behind. She was... important.
And through the years as I've dreamed about her, my fear and anxiety in all the dreams is tempered by the joy of seeing her again.
She has never aged.
So. Any idea what these dreams might mean?
We talked quite a bit about dreams.
I won't tell you hers, because they're hers. But I can tell you about some of mine.
Do you remember My Dream Girl ?
I have seen her in my dreams again and again. It's always the same little one .
I've had her with me a long, long time.
Longer than my own children, really.
I first met her when I was about 14 years old, in a dream that stayed with me for days. I had taken her from a man who was hitting her. I stole her from her crib in the middle of the night because I knew the man was hurting her. (He was not her father but I don't know how I knew that.)
I can still remember bathing her in a big metal tub, dabbing with a warm washrag at some of the dried blood on her skin, and crying over the hand-shaped bruises on her back and her legs.
I promised her I'd keep her safe, and took her to a grandmother somewhere in a forest. The details are sketchy because I dreamed it so long ago, but I remember her clinging to my neck as we passed through crowds of people, then her seeing the face of the grandmother and willingly holding out her little arms to her. She went to the grandmother without another glance at me.
I went back to where I'd found her to confront the man who'd hurt her. He beat me up (broken teeth, cuts on my face, split in my scalp and a huge rip in my neck) and I thought I was going to die for having taken her, but I got away from him and grabbed a knife.
He paused, watching for a weakness. A sign that I was... wavering.
But I knew I'd kill him if he hit me again.
I was ready to for sure. I wanted to. I wanted to see him bleed. I wanted to cause him pain. I remember gesturing to him come try to hit me again, you bastard when several people came through windows and doors into the small home we were in and took him down.
He was dragged away, growling like an animal by a group of men in tan clothing.
I knew that he would be killed immediately, and that the fierce joy I felt over that wasn't approved by the people around me, who weren't really people at all. I don't know what they were. They looked human, but they didn't feel that way.
He would be killed, but not in anger. It would be destroying a broken clock or a damaged pot. There was regret on their faces as they dragged him up the hill toward a cave. It was a chore they didn't want to do.
A man and two women treated my wounds, one of them crying as she stitched up my scalp. I don't know how they communicated, but somehow it was decided that I would be escorted to go see the child, and then sent home.
And I was. I was able to hold her, to see that her wounds had healed, and to feel the warmth of her spirit bathing the people around her. She was something special, but I don't know who or what she was. She was just a child who needed me.
I remember waking up from that dream feeling sad that I had to leave her behind. She was... important.
And through the years as I've dreamed about her, my fear and anxiety in all the dreams is tempered by the joy of seeing her again.
She has never aged.
So. Any idea what these dreams might mean?
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Thursday night, while I slept,
I was once again carrying My Dream Girl while being pursued by monsters.
It was near morning, but still very dark.
I could not see the creatures pursuing me, but knew they were close enough to catch up with me if I didn't keep moving.
The little girl was actually asleep on my shoulder (I think it's interesting to note here that she slept through my entire dream. Never once stirred.) as I alternated between walking and running. I was out of breath and had a stitch in my right side, but kept going anyway.
Fear is a great motivator.
As much as I was jouncing her around, it was amazing that she kept sleeping, but she was snoring lightly in my ear. As scared as I was, I found a moment to be amused at the adorable little sounds she made.
I glanced down at what she was wearing because in my dream, I knew I was dreaming, and I wanted to know if we were picking up where we had left off in the last dream or if we had been transported somewhere else, and I had the idea in my head that if she was wearing different clothing, we'd been... moved.
We had. She was wearing a too-big green plaid jacket over a thin little pink cotton shirt and a pair of black leggings. Both feet had socks, but she was only wearing one little red tennis shoe. There were bits of leaves and twigs on the sock clad foot, letting me know that she'd been walking a bit.
She didn't smell fresh and clean now. She smelled of a sour, wet smell. I don't know what it was, it wasn't anything I've ever smelled before.
It was nearly dawn. The air around us was dark and grainy, like an old photograph. There was a metallic smell to it, and I knew without thinking about it that it would be toxic to any creature who had to live there permanently, but that I wouldn't be affected by it because I wouldn't be there long.
I was on a well worn pathway through some small, stunted trees. They were bent and twisted into strange, tortured shapes.
They seemed sentient.
They... hurt. Their spirits were deeply wounded, and it showed on the outside of them and in the vibes they were giving off.
But their hurt was smaller than their determination to survive, and they were almost... proud to be alive, despite their twisted outsides and precarious hold on life.
I sensed they were encouraging me to keep going and that they knew the child I had been entrusted with.
The dirt path I'd been walking on turned to one covered with sticks and gravel as I left the trees and moved into some very tall dry grass. The path continued, wide and definite. No grass encroached on it, making me think it was a well traveled trail.
My feet made noise as I walked, occasionally snapping a twig or slipping in the gravel.
I paused for a second to shift my hold on her (she was getting heavy) and realized as they instantly stopped that I had been hearing footsteps to my right and to my left, keeping pace with me. My heart sank when the footsteps started up again as I began walking, because then I knew for sure that I was being watched/stalked.
The path began descending into a tiny valley. The whole thing was maybe a mile across, or less.
I could see a small hill in the center, and as I paused again to knead the stitch in my side, the sky began to lighten a bit more.
Across the valley, I could see other paths leading toward the same small hill. There was a person running downhill directly across the valley from me, and he was carrying a child, too. I could hear him panting for breath as he ran. He stopped frequently, bent over his knees and tried to catch his breath, only to sob a little and start running again. I could hear his pursuers, howling behind him, but could not see them. I don't think he could, either, but I could tell he thought they were very close to him.
Whatever was pursuing me was still behind me, I knew, but they were silent.
The creatures? Beings? who had been pacing me were suddenly not there, either. I had not noticed when I no longer heard their footsteps.
As I began moving again, I looked to my right and saw a woman cresting the hill and starting down into the valley. She was carrying an infant and limping.
I could see a gash on her shoulder and just above her knee. Her shirt was soaked with blood.
Worse, I could see that whatever had clawed her had also gotten the baby. His (her?) blanket was dripping blood down the woman's leg as she ran.
Then somehow, I was at the hill. The woman was only a few feet from me to the right, and the man I'd seen was sitting, gasping, on a rock to my left.
There were bones strewn on the ground at intervals, and some were, well, fresh. Shredded cloth, small jackets and shoes and little toys were interspersed among the bones. It was almost a pattern. I had a fleeting thought that if I only had time to really look, I'd be able to discern it, but there was no time for that.
They were all small bones, the bones of children, I thought.
There were tooth marks on them, and a terrible odor in the air. I was devastated when I realized the bones closest to me were the bones of a very small infant. I mourned the loss of a baby I never knew... and wondered about the child's mother.
The man coughed, drawing my attention to him.
He stared piercingly at me and seemed to come to a decision. He held out the child toward me. He wanted me to take it. It was nearly a twin to the one I carried, but a little taller, I thought. As I tried to figure out what to do (I could hear sounds of pursuit from all directions now, and knew that I had to get up the hill to be safe) the woman made a small sound.
I started to look toward her, but the man gasped again, making my attention go back to him.
He shrieked. Just once... and it was only an instant, not prolonged at all.
He carefully set the child he was holding on the ground and he burst into flames. I could feel the heat like a furnace as he burned.
He was a pile of ash in mere seconds, leaving a sterile little patch of ground where he'd been standing.
I somehow was not surprised that I'd just seen a man burn in front of me. I almost... expected it.
The little girl he'd been holding walked toward me and held out her arms. Her solemn face had not changed, even when her guardian had gone up in flames.
I picked her up, somehow finding a way to hold one child on each hip, thinking that I was a bit out of practice with small ones.
The woman made another sound.
I looked toward her, and she collapsed, the infant rolling from her arms and ending up against a small rock. The woman stopped breathing, her eyes wide open, seeing nothing. She was dead.
I went to the baby, and saw that he was dying, too. His breath was shallow and fast... and he was still bleeding. Part of me was amazed that such a small person had so much blood in him.
I didn't want to leave him for the predators, but I knew I couldn't help him and that the chances of me getting the two living children to safety were shrinking as I just... stood there.
As I tried to figure out what to do (more pursuers had joined the pack, I could hear them and I knew that I had almost no time left) one of the beings from my first dream materialized in front of me.
I was made to understand that if I wanted to save myself, I needed to leave the children with him/her.
I shook my head. Adamantly refused. The being held out its arms. Give them to me, it thought.
I turned away and began trying to go up the hill, only to see the being in front of me again.
Give me the children.
I did not.
As I detoured around the being, it raised an arm, signaling. A huge vulture launched itself from the side of the hill toward me. I bent low, trying to keep the little girls safe, and did not actually see it as it crashed into my head, stretching its talons and grabbing me.
I felt a talon enter my right eye, and another one penetrate the shoulder muscle. The bird pecked the back of my head, and grabbing both hair and scalp in its beak, began to yank quickly and repeatedly.
As I put the children down and reached up to bash it away from my head, I woke up, heart and head pounding in rhythm.
I laid next to Eric, fighting the urge to wake him up because I was scared. He's told me at least a thousand times over the last 30 years to do exactly that, but I usually don't. He needs his sleep as much as I do.
I finally calmed down enough to be more in this world than in the dream, and got out of bed. Found my flashlight and wandered into the bathroom to get rid of about a gallon of used water.
Peed, washed hands and padded out into the kitchen to get a migraine pill. The floor was cold.
Got back to bed and wondered why I couldn't just get a migraine in the conventional fashion.
You know, just... sleep and wake up with a headache.
Is it really necessary to have all that dreamstuff plague me?
And I've been wondering since if, next time I see my dream girl, there will be two of them for me to carry.
It was an interesting start to my Friday. And of course stuck with me all day.
It's with me still.
::sigh::
It was near morning, but still very dark.
I could not see the creatures pursuing me, but knew they were close enough to catch up with me if I didn't keep moving.
The little girl was actually asleep on my shoulder (I think it's interesting to note here that she slept through my entire dream. Never once stirred.) as I alternated between walking and running. I was out of breath and had a stitch in my right side, but kept going anyway.
Fear is a great motivator.
As much as I was jouncing her around, it was amazing that she kept sleeping, but she was snoring lightly in my ear. As scared as I was, I found a moment to be amused at the adorable little sounds she made.
I glanced down at what she was wearing because in my dream, I knew I was dreaming, and I wanted to know if we were picking up where we had left off in the last dream or if we had been transported somewhere else, and I had the idea in my head that if she was wearing different clothing, we'd been... moved.
We had. She was wearing a too-big green plaid jacket over a thin little pink cotton shirt and a pair of black leggings. Both feet had socks, but she was only wearing one little red tennis shoe. There were bits of leaves and twigs on the sock clad foot, letting me know that she'd been walking a bit.
She didn't smell fresh and clean now. She smelled of a sour, wet smell. I don't know what it was, it wasn't anything I've ever smelled before.
It was nearly dawn. The air around us was dark and grainy, like an old photograph. There was a metallic smell to it, and I knew without thinking about it that it would be toxic to any creature who had to live there permanently, but that I wouldn't be affected by it because I wouldn't be there long.
I was on a well worn pathway through some small, stunted trees. They were bent and twisted into strange, tortured shapes.
They seemed sentient.
They... hurt. Their spirits were deeply wounded, and it showed on the outside of them and in the vibes they were giving off.
But their hurt was smaller than their determination to survive, and they were almost... proud to be alive, despite their twisted outsides and precarious hold on life.
I sensed they were encouraging me to keep going and that they knew the child I had been entrusted with.
The dirt path I'd been walking on turned to one covered with sticks and gravel as I left the trees and moved into some very tall dry grass. The path continued, wide and definite. No grass encroached on it, making me think it was a well traveled trail.
My feet made noise as I walked, occasionally snapping a twig or slipping in the gravel.
I paused for a second to shift my hold on her (she was getting heavy) and realized as they instantly stopped that I had been hearing footsteps to my right and to my left, keeping pace with me. My heart sank when the footsteps started up again as I began walking, because then I knew for sure that I was being watched/stalked.
The path began descending into a tiny valley. The whole thing was maybe a mile across, or less.
I could see a small hill in the center, and as I paused again to knead the stitch in my side, the sky began to lighten a bit more.
Across the valley, I could see other paths leading toward the same small hill. There was a person running downhill directly across the valley from me, and he was carrying a child, too. I could hear him panting for breath as he ran. He stopped frequently, bent over his knees and tried to catch his breath, only to sob a little and start running again. I could hear his pursuers, howling behind him, but could not see them. I don't think he could, either, but I could tell he thought they were very close to him.
Whatever was pursuing me was still behind me, I knew, but they were silent.
The creatures? Beings? who had been pacing me were suddenly not there, either. I had not noticed when I no longer heard their footsteps.
As I began moving again, I looked to my right and saw a woman cresting the hill and starting down into the valley. She was carrying an infant and limping.
I could see a gash on her shoulder and just above her knee. Her shirt was soaked with blood.
Worse, I could see that whatever had clawed her had also gotten the baby. His (her?) blanket was dripping blood down the woman's leg as she ran.
Then somehow, I was at the hill. The woman was only a few feet from me to the right, and the man I'd seen was sitting, gasping, on a rock to my left.
There were bones strewn on the ground at intervals, and some were, well, fresh. Shredded cloth, small jackets and shoes and little toys were interspersed among the bones. It was almost a pattern. I had a fleeting thought that if I only had time to really look, I'd be able to discern it, but there was no time for that.
They were all small bones, the bones of children, I thought.
There were tooth marks on them, and a terrible odor in the air. I was devastated when I realized the bones closest to me were the bones of a very small infant. I mourned the loss of a baby I never knew... and wondered about the child's mother.
The man coughed, drawing my attention to him.
He stared piercingly at me and seemed to come to a decision. He held out the child toward me. He wanted me to take it. It was nearly a twin to the one I carried, but a little taller, I thought. As I tried to figure out what to do (I could hear sounds of pursuit from all directions now, and knew that I had to get up the hill to be safe) the woman made a small sound.
I started to look toward her, but the man gasped again, making my attention go back to him.
He shrieked. Just once... and it was only an instant, not prolonged at all.
He carefully set the child he was holding on the ground and he burst into flames. I could feel the heat like a furnace as he burned.
He was a pile of ash in mere seconds, leaving a sterile little patch of ground where he'd been standing.
I somehow was not surprised that I'd just seen a man burn in front of me. I almost... expected it.
The little girl he'd been holding walked toward me and held out her arms. Her solemn face had not changed, even when her guardian had gone up in flames.
I picked her up, somehow finding a way to hold one child on each hip, thinking that I was a bit out of practice with small ones.
The woman made another sound.
I looked toward her, and she collapsed, the infant rolling from her arms and ending up against a small rock. The woman stopped breathing, her eyes wide open, seeing nothing. She was dead.
I went to the baby, and saw that he was dying, too. His breath was shallow and fast... and he was still bleeding. Part of me was amazed that such a small person had so much blood in him.
I didn't want to leave him for the predators, but I knew I couldn't help him and that the chances of me getting the two living children to safety were shrinking as I just... stood there.
As I tried to figure out what to do (more pursuers had joined the pack, I could hear them and I knew that I had almost no time left) one of the beings from my first dream materialized in front of me.
I was made to understand that if I wanted to save myself, I needed to leave the children with him/her.
I shook my head. Adamantly refused. The being held out its arms. Give them to me, it thought.
I turned away and began trying to go up the hill, only to see the being in front of me again.
Give me the children.
I did not.
As I detoured around the being, it raised an arm, signaling. A huge vulture launched itself from the side of the hill toward me. I bent low, trying to keep the little girls safe, and did not actually see it as it crashed into my head, stretching its talons and grabbing me.
I felt a talon enter my right eye, and another one penetrate the shoulder muscle. The bird pecked the back of my head, and grabbing both hair and scalp in its beak, began to yank quickly and repeatedly.
As I put the children down and reached up to bash it away from my head, I woke up, heart and head pounding in rhythm.
I laid next to Eric, fighting the urge to wake him up because I was scared. He's told me at least a thousand times over the last 30 years to do exactly that, but I usually don't. He needs his sleep as much as I do.
I finally calmed down enough to be more in this world than in the dream, and got out of bed. Found my flashlight and wandered into the bathroom to get rid of about a gallon of used water.
Peed, washed hands and padded out into the kitchen to get a migraine pill. The floor was cold.
Got back to bed and wondered why I couldn't just get a migraine in the conventional fashion.
You know, just... sleep and wake up with a headache.
Is it really necessary to have all that dreamstuff plague me?
And I've been wondering since if, next time I see my dream girl, there will be two of them for me to carry.
It was an interesting start to my Friday. And of course stuck with me all day.
It's with me still.
::sigh::
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Color my day...
I've always had vivid dreams, which is the downside of having a great imagination.
As a child, my nightmares were so clear and close together that I laid awake as long as I could every night, thinking I'd stay awake all night long and then I wouldn't dream.
Of course I always fell asleep. And dreamed.
The scary images I saw haunted me. Followed me to waking hours. I'm a little more mature now and I don't always have bad dreams, but much of what I see in my night world still affects my day.
So if you've been reading here for awhile, you probably remember My Dream Girl
I've seen the same little one in so many dreams that I am beginning to wonder what it means.
Or if it means anything at all.. who knows?
(and if you haven't been reading here long, then go back and read those posts, because I'll take any advice you have... it's getting a bit weird, even for me.)
When I first wake up from a dream of her, I'm as conscious of this child as I am of my own children. Like all moms, part of my mind looks for her to make sure she's okay.
I'm always surprised when I'm fully awake and I don't find her in this world.
She's been with me so much lately that she's almost really mine.
Thing is, my dreams about this child have become more ominous and more compelling each time I dream of her. I am consistently cast in the role of her protector, and the circumstances are always... otherworldly.
We are placed in different situations and on different worlds. I sense that where we are is sometimes familiar to her, and sometimes not, but that she always has confidence that I will keep her safe, even if I'm not sure I can.
In the past three or four weeks, I've seen her in my dreams nine times. Some of the dreams are not clear to me upon waking even though I say to myself that I won't forget them, but the one I had last night has stuck with me all day long.
There's been a translucent layer of that dream over everything I've seen and done all day long, and it's colored everything for me. I've found myself worrying about her as if she is real. Wanting to sleep so I'll at least have a chance to check on her.
So last night (that would be Monday night, since this is Tuesday evening) I dreamed about her again.
Again I was carrying her.
Her little arms were locked around my neck, and she was trembling.
She smelled of the same shampoo and soap that I noticed before, and her little pink sweater was fuzzy and warm. Her hair was clean and soft around her face, and it kept tickling my neck.
She was warm and solid and so... real. As she always is.
I don't know where we were, but it was dark. I was making my way through some sort of overgrowth, vines brushing against my face and things slithering away from me as I walked.
There were creatures hunting and dying all around us.
I could hear them roaring as they hunted. And the unfortunate ones who'd been caught? I could hear them screaming.
Each animal sound made her startle, and as the screams of the dying creatures and their hunters came closer, she began sobbing silently against my chest.
I was afraid, too. I didn't know where we were, I didn't have any idea how to get out, and worst of all, I was thinking her trust in me was misplaced and that I wasn't going to be able to protect her when the animals came for us.
I vowed to myself that I WOULD protect her. That I wouldn't allow her to be ripped apart. That nothing would touch her.
I was ready to fight and bite and scream and tear.
We finally reached a clearing. Just on the edge was a tree with branches low enough that I thought I could place her on a lower branch and climb up to her... and move her to a higher place, climb again, move her again.. until we were high enough to be safe until dawn.
At least that was my plan. As we approached the tree, I started to unwrap her arms from my neck in preparation for lifting her up. And she wouldn't let go. I tried again. She tightened her grip.
So I explained to her what I wanted to do. She didn't want to let go of me, but I was able to persuade her to allow me to lift her up to the lowest branch.
It was really tough to put her up there, the trunk and branches were like glass. Gray, cold glass. Even as part of my mind was aggravated and frustrated at the difficulty of getting her up there (and getting me up there, too) I was pleased. Because if it was difficult for me, it would be even harder for the hungry, murderous creatures to get there.
I got her onto the lowest branch and had several horrible moments as I tried to get up there, too.
It seemed like ten minutes for me to finally get there, but it was probably only 30 seconds or so.
I followed her up, and continued moving her from branch to branch. It got easier as we climbed, there was actual bark growing the higher we got.
We finally found a scooped out place formed by a curling branch and some leaves and I made us a sort of nest. I laid down on my back, and she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck again. As she laid against my chest, listening to my heart, her panicked breathing slowed down, and she drifted off.
I didn't.
All the rest of the night, I heard screaming. Too many times to count, a creature stopped below our tree and made frustrated sounds. A few tried to climb up, but did not make it because of the slippery bark.
I never did fall asleep in that tree.
And as the first pink and yellow started to show in the sky above us, and the screams were dying down, my alarm clock went off.
I jolted awake.
And I've been haunted all day.
Tonight I'm torn between wanting to get back to the dream (yes, I can do that... I've mostly always been able to do so) and not wanting to get back to the dream.
What if I can't keep her safe?
Okay, amateur or professional dream interpreters.
What the hell is this all about?
As a child, my nightmares were so clear and close together that I laid awake as long as I could every night, thinking I'd stay awake all night long and then I wouldn't dream.
Of course I always fell asleep. And dreamed.
The scary images I saw haunted me. Followed me to waking hours. I'm a little more mature now and I don't always have bad dreams, but much of what I see in my night world still affects my day.
So if you've been reading here for awhile, you probably remember My Dream Girl
I've seen the same little one in so many dreams that I am beginning to wonder what it means.
Or if it means anything at all.. who knows?
(and if you haven't been reading here long, then go back and read those posts, because I'll take any advice you have... it's getting a bit weird, even for me.)
When I first wake up from a dream of her, I'm as conscious of this child as I am of my own children. Like all moms, part of my mind looks for her to make sure she's okay.
I'm always surprised when I'm fully awake and I don't find her in this world.
She's been with me so much lately that she's almost really mine.
Thing is, my dreams about this child have become more ominous and more compelling each time I dream of her. I am consistently cast in the role of her protector, and the circumstances are always... otherworldly.
We are placed in different situations and on different worlds. I sense that where we are is sometimes familiar to her, and sometimes not, but that she always has confidence that I will keep her safe, even if I'm not sure I can.
In the past three or four weeks, I've seen her in my dreams nine times. Some of the dreams are not clear to me upon waking even though I say to myself that I won't forget them, but the one I had last night has stuck with me all day long.
There's been a translucent layer of that dream over everything I've seen and done all day long, and it's colored everything for me. I've found myself worrying about her as if she is real. Wanting to sleep so I'll at least have a chance to check on her.
So last night (that would be Monday night, since this is Tuesday evening) I dreamed about her again.
Again I was carrying her.
Her little arms were locked around my neck, and she was trembling.
She smelled of the same shampoo and soap that I noticed before, and her little pink sweater was fuzzy and warm. Her hair was clean and soft around her face, and it kept tickling my neck.
She was warm and solid and so... real. As she always is.
I don't know where we were, but it was dark. I was making my way through some sort of overgrowth, vines brushing against my face and things slithering away from me as I walked.
There were creatures hunting and dying all around us.
I could hear them roaring as they hunted. And the unfortunate ones who'd been caught? I could hear them screaming.
Each animal sound made her startle, and as the screams of the dying creatures and their hunters came closer, she began sobbing silently against my chest.
I was afraid, too. I didn't know where we were, I didn't have any idea how to get out, and worst of all, I was thinking her trust in me was misplaced and that I wasn't going to be able to protect her when the animals came for us.
I vowed to myself that I WOULD protect her. That I wouldn't allow her to be ripped apart. That nothing would touch her.
I was ready to fight and bite and scream and tear.
We finally reached a clearing. Just on the edge was a tree with branches low enough that I thought I could place her on a lower branch and climb up to her... and move her to a higher place, climb again, move her again.. until we were high enough to be safe until dawn.
At least that was my plan. As we approached the tree, I started to unwrap her arms from my neck in preparation for lifting her up. And she wouldn't let go. I tried again. She tightened her grip.
So I explained to her what I wanted to do. She didn't want to let go of me, but I was able to persuade her to allow me to lift her up to the lowest branch.
It was really tough to put her up there, the trunk and branches were like glass. Gray, cold glass. Even as part of my mind was aggravated and frustrated at the difficulty of getting her up there (and getting me up there, too) I was pleased. Because if it was difficult for me, it would be even harder for the hungry, murderous creatures to get there.
I got her onto the lowest branch and had several horrible moments as I tried to get up there, too.
It seemed like ten minutes for me to finally get there, but it was probably only 30 seconds or so.
I followed her up, and continued moving her from branch to branch. It got easier as we climbed, there was actual bark growing the higher we got.
We finally found a scooped out place formed by a curling branch and some leaves and I made us a sort of nest. I laid down on my back, and she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck again. As she laid against my chest, listening to my heart, her panicked breathing slowed down, and she drifted off.
I didn't.
All the rest of the night, I heard screaming. Too many times to count, a creature stopped below our tree and made frustrated sounds. A few tried to climb up, but did not make it because of the slippery bark.
I never did fall asleep in that tree.
And as the first pink and yellow started to show in the sky above us, and the screams were dying down, my alarm clock went off.
I jolted awake.
And I've been haunted all day.
Tonight I'm torn between wanting to get back to the dream (yes, I can do that... I've mostly always been able to do so) and not wanting to get back to the dream.
What if I can't keep her safe?
Okay, amateur or professional dream interpreters.
What the hell is this all about?
Monday, May 03, 2010
Do you remember...
My earliest memory was around 17 months of age.
The only reason I know this (Yes, I was cute and smart, but could not read a calendar at that time) is that my mom tells me we moved out of the house I remember when I was 18 months old.
We lived in a tiny house behind City Market in Montrose, Colorado.
For some reason, I was afraid of the small man who drove the garbage truck. I don't know why, and don't recall seeing him before he showed up in my dream, but I remember that is who he was.
He was a short guy who wore white jeans and a white, short-sleeved button down shirt. A stub of unlit cigar always protruded from his mouth, and he had a scary deep laugh... it sounded like he was gargling gravel.
Don't ask me how I remember these things, but my mom corroborates every bit of this.
I was born in December of 1960, a year and four months after my parents were married. Like most newlyweds/young parents, my mom and dad didn't have a lot of money, and made do with second hand furniture or went without a lot of things when necessary.
We had a sofa that was missing a leg. This was a rose-colored piece of furniture with no arms. It sat on long, tapered wooden legs, about ten inches off the floor.
The left front leg wasn't wood. It was a Coca Cola bottle.
One early summer morning (I know it must have been summer because I slept in my crib just outside my parents' bedroom door in the front room, and the front door was open, but the screen closed. I remember the early morning light coming through it.) I had a nightmare.
I dreamed that the garbage man was sitting on our couch, laughing. He was holding a burlap sack, chomping on his cigar, and trying to pull the bottle out from under the couch to put it in his sack and take it away!
I don't remember if I cried, but I was afraid and I climbed out of my crib to go to my mom.
I can recall looking down at my bare legs (past the little kimono-wrap t shirt I was wearing... I can even see the snaps on it) and hearing the crackle of my rubber pants. I can remember the feel of my wet diaper (it was so cold!) and I can see the outline of the diaper pins through the plastic. (The diaper pins had little yellow ducks on them.)
I remember grasping the top rail of the crib and climbing over it. I can remember standing on the outside of the crib, toes on the edge of the mattress and slowly lowering my legs to almost the floor... then letting go when I was just an inch or two above the boards. (Hardwood floors... another accurate detail.)
I remember going into my parents' room and my mom asking me, "Did you have a bad dream, Honey?" and her picking me up and putting me in the bed between them.
That's where the memory ends.
The next memory I have was at about age three. I had received a children's baking set for Christmas, complete with a fortune cookie recipe and little fortunes to bake into the cookies.
I remember sitting on the kitchen counter, legs dangling over the edge while my parents and I went through the items in the set, and how they laughed as they read the fortune, "Help! I am being held prisoner in a cookie factory!"
I didn't understand why it was funny at three, but I wrote a slightly changed variation of it inside MANY candy boxes when I worked for Russell Stover Candy in Montrose about 17 years later. Because of course by then, I'd figured out the joke.
:)
So what's your earliest memory?
The only reason I know this (Yes, I was cute and smart, but could not read a calendar at that time) is that my mom tells me we moved out of the house I remember when I was 18 months old.
We lived in a tiny house behind City Market in Montrose, Colorado.
For some reason, I was afraid of the small man who drove the garbage truck. I don't know why, and don't recall seeing him before he showed up in my dream, but I remember that is who he was.
He was a short guy who wore white jeans and a white, short-sleeved button down shirt. A stub of unlit cigar always protruded from his mouth, and he had a scary deep laugh... it sounded like he was gargling gravel.
Don't ask me how I remember these things, but my mom corroborates every bit of this.
I was born in December of 1960, a year and four months after my parents were married. Like most newlyweds/young parents, my mom and dad didn't have a lot of money, and made do with second hand furniture or went without a lot of things when necessary.
We had a sofa that was missing a leg. This was a rose-colored piece of furniture with no arms. It sat on long, tapered wooden legs, about ten inches off the floor.
The left front leg wasn't wood. It was a Coca Cola bottle.
One early summer morning (I know it must have been summer because I slept in my crib just outside my parents' bedroom door in the front room, and the front door was open, but the screen closed. I remember the early morning light coming through it.) I had a nightmare.
I dreamed that the garbage man was sitting on our couch, laughing. He was holding a burlap sack, chomping on his cigar, and trying to pull the bottle out from under the couch to put it in his sack and take it away!
I don't remember if I cried, but I was afraid and I climbed out of my crib to go to my mom.
I can recall looking down at my bare legs (past the little kimono-wrap t shirt I was wearing... I can even see the snaps on it) and hearing the crackle of my rubber pants. I can remember the feel of my wet diaper (it was so cold!) and I can see the outline of the diaper pins through the plastic. (The diaper pins had little yellow ducks on them.)
I remember grasping the top rail of the crib and climbing over it. I can remember standing on the outside of the crib, toes on the edge of the mattress and slowly lowering my legs to almost the floor... then letting go when I was just an inch or two above the boards. (Hardwood floors... another accurate detail.)
I remember going into my parents' room and my mom asking me, "Did you have a bad dream, Honey?" and her picking me up and putting me in the bed between them.
That's where the memory ends.
The next memory I have was at about age three. I had received a children's baking set for Christmas, complete with a fortune cookie recipe and little fortunes to bake into the cookies.
I remember sitting on the kitchen counter, legs dangling over the edge while my parents and I went through the items in the set, and how they laughed as they read the fortune, "Help! I am being held prisoner in a cookie factory!"
I didn't understand why it was funny at three, but I wrote a slightly changed variation of it inside MANY candy boxes when I worked for Russell Stover Candy in Montrose about 17 years later. Because of course by then, I'd figured out the joke.
:)
So what's your earliest memory?
Monday, November 17, 2008
Sulfacetamide and the Meaning of Life
In the fall of 1995, I came down with a raging case of conjunctivitis, known in my little universe as Pinkeye.
It was nasty, as pinkeye usually is, and went from sort of yucky to gloppy and swollen in a matter of an hour or two. (I briefly considered doing a Google image search for pinkeye for this post, but I'm betting that if you've ever seen or had it, your imagination will paint a picture that's quite disgusting without my help.)
So I went to see Dr. Friendly on a Friday.
Being a genial sort of fellow, he assured me that he's 'seen worse' and 'here, take this prescription and you'll clear up right away.'
I stopped at the pharmacy and filled the prescription for Sulfacetamide drops. Did the first dose in my car before heading home.
My eyes started to clear up right away, but I started to feel sort of sick. I was getting a headache, my sinuses were... weird. No drainage, but they felt full. My throat was sort of tight, and it was hard to swallow. When I closed and rubbed my eyes, I could see the image of all the veins and capillaries. It was really strange.
On Sunday night, I was sleeping on the couch in the living room because lying down to sleep really bothered my head. About two in the morning, I suddenly sat up. I had to pee.
In the darkened living room, lit only by the light from the aquarium, was a little Chinese man. He had a long braid down his back, and was wearing a yellow robe. Little satin slippers peeked from under the hem of his robe. The bottom of the robe was a little dusty and frayed, and there were a few threads hanging from the edges.
I felt no surprise at all.
I got my feet on the floor to go to the bathroom, but he was in the way. He realized it as I was going to ask him to please move, and bowed to me as he moved to one side.
"I am Ha Loo Sin Nation." he said, and gestured expansively with his left arm for me to proceed to the bathroom. (it wasn't until a week or so later that the meaning of his name hit me.)
When I came back, he was still standing next to the couch. I walked around him, kicked off my slippers and pulled the blankets up around my shoulders.
For the next fifteen minutes or so, we had a conversation with no words. He communicated to me the secrets of the universe, one of which was the meaning of life. It made perfect sense, what he said, and I have wished a hundred times or more that I could remember what he told me. I do remember that everything was in threes. Three of this, three of that, but everything else is lost.
When he had finished telling me about life, he took my right hand and bowed over it in a courtly way.
I went back to sleep.
When I woke up on Monday morning, he was gone. I called my doctor around 8, and he told me that I was apparently allergic to the eyedrops and that I probably shouldn't be taking them.
I went to see him later that afternoon, and he gave me some steroid drops to clear up the inflammation that had been caused by the Sulfacetamide.
I've wondered from time to time what would happen if I got those eyedrops again. Would Ha Loo Sin Nation appear to me? Would he once again explain life to me? Would I remember to write it down?
It really was an interesting experience, but it took almost four months for my veins and capillaries to stop appearing when I rubbed my eyes.
Now the years have tinged the experience with humor, but Dr. Friendly told me that it was actually sort of serious. Apparently, since a person's eyes are located pretty close to the brain, the allergic reaction could have been much worse.
It was nasty, as pinkeye usually is, and went from sort of yucky to gloppy and swollen in a matter of an hour or two. (I briefly considered doing a Google image search for pinkeye for this post, but I'm betting that if you've ever seen or had it, your imagination will paint a picture that's quite disgusting without my help.)
So I went to see Dr. Friendly on a Friday.
Being a genial sort of fellow, he assured me that he's 'seen worse' and 'here, take this prescription and you'll clear up right away.'
I stopped at the pharmacy and filled the prescription for Sulfacetamide drops. Did the first dose in my car before heading home.
My eyes started to clear up right away, but I started to feel sort of sick. I was getting a headache, my sinuses were... weird. No drainage, but they felt full. My throat was sort of tight, and it was hard to swallow. When I closed and rubbed my eyes, I could see the image of all the veins and capillaries. It was really strange.
On Sunday night, I was sleeping on the couch in the living room because lying down to sleep really bothered my head. About two in the morning, I suddenly sat up. I had to pee.
In the darkened living room, lit only by the light from the aquarium, was a little Chinese man. He had a long braid down his back, and was wearing a yellow robe. Little satin slippers peeked from under the hem of his robe. The bottom of the robe was a little dusty and frayed, and there were a few threads hanging from the edges.
I felt no surprise at all.
I got my feet on the floor to go to the bathroom, but he was in the way. He realized it as I was going to ask him to please move, and bowed to me as he moved to one side.
"I am Ha Loo Sin Nation." he said, and gestured expansively with his left arm for me to proceed to the bathroom. (it wasn't until a week or so later that the meaning of his name hit me.)
When I came back, he was still standing next to the couch. I walked around him, kicked off my slippers and pulled the blankets up around my shoulders.
For the next fifteen minutes or so, we had a conversation with no words. He communicated to me the secrets of the universe, one of which was the meaning of life. It made perfect sense, what he said, and I have wished a hundred times or more that I could remember what he told me. I do remember that everything was in threes. Three of this, three of that, but everything else is lost.
When he had finished telling me about life, he took my right hand and bowed over it in a courtly way.
I went back to sleep.
When I woke up on Monday morning, he was gone. I called my doctor around 8, and he told me that I was apparently allergic to the eyedrops and that I probably shouldn't be taking them.
I went to see him later that afternoon, and he gave me some steroid drops to clear up the inflammation that had been caused by the Sulfacetamide.
I've wondered from time to time what would happen if I got those eyedrops again. Would Ha Loo Sin Nation appear to me? Would he once again explain life to me? Would I remember to write it down?
It really was an interesting experience, but it took almost four months for my veins and capillaries to stop appearing when I rubbed my eyes.
Now the years have tinged the experience with humor, but Dr. Friendly told me that it was actually sort of serious. Apparently, since a person's eyes are located pretty close to the brain, the allergic reaction could have been much worse.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
My brain goes zipping merrily along/spouts gibberish
Do you remember My Dream Girl ?
If you don't, go read it.
You're back? Okay.
She was with me again last night.
I was trying to keep her safe during some weird sort of nighttime celestial event. I can't even begin to explain all that went on in the sky, but I was frightened and running to escape it. Something horrible was happening. I could see planets getting larger and moving together, and there were comets, fire, and electrical flashes. I could see asteroids colliding. It was deafening.
I was carrying my little dream girl piggyback. Her arms were tightly locked around my neck. I kept trying to shift her grip down so I could breathe while I ran.
I scrambled up a long hillside, tore through some blackberry bushes, scratched my face and hands, and got a huge scrape on my right arm.
It bled a lot.
I ripped the first two fingernails on my left hand back from the quick to get over the last part of it, and fell and smacked my knee a good one, too.
We ducked into a little restaurant... sitting out in the middle of the empty expanse of plain on top of the hill I'd climbed.
Although cars and motorcycles were parked in a paved and painted parking lot, (complete with two handicapped spaces) no road led to it or away from it.
It seemed strange, but we had to escape and that was the only place to go.
I opened the door and walked into a different world. No one in the small crowded restaurant seemed to have any idea there was anything going on outside. No one glanced our way as the bell above the door dinged, and no one paid any attention when the heavy door slammed behind me.
The place was alive with what I would think of as a typical Saturday night crowd. Lots of guys with long hair and three pitchers of beer at three pushed-together tables over in the corner.
I knew the motorcycles parked outside were theirs.
I also knew they were the ones who'd picked the selection currently playing on the jukebox. They were happily bellowing along with Take This Job And Shove It. Two of them were smoking some strange brownish cigarettes.
I could smell sweat, old grease, french fries and leather.
Dishes crashed in the kitchen, the cook dinged the little bell behind the bar, and the one waitress was very, very busy.
She was a stereotypical small town waitress, older than 50, with a bad reddish dye job. Used but not worn out. She wore a peach polyester uniform and cap. She swished as she bustled down the narrow aisles between tables. As she passed me, I could smell Aqua-net and Dentyne.
A few booths were taken up by small families with babies in high chairs and one or two small kids in booster seats.
An elderly couple sat near the little window. The only open seat in the place was at the counter, so I transferred the little girl from my back to my front and perched on the stool with her on my lap. She was facing me, and laid her head on my chest, little arms comfortably folded across her tummy. The moment I sat down, the noise level in the restaurant noticeably diminished. I could feel most of the people in the place looking at the back of my head.
I suddenly realized that although they had chosen small town stereotypical forms, they were the same beings I dreamed of the last time I carried this child.
They were just... watching.
I grabbed napkins from the chrome dispenser on the counter and tried to clean some of the blood from my arm.
Although I don't remember ordering, the waitress placed a plate in front of me. Hamburger, fries, milkshake. Two glasses, two straws. Thinking I'd offer food to the child, I looked down at her face to find her sleeping.
The scene changed, and she was holding my hand, walking through an overgrown yard. The three story dark gray house loomed over us. All the windows on the ground floor were broken. Glass glittered on the broad boards of the veranda.
After a solemn look at the porch and surroundings, my girl held up her arms to me, and I picked her up.
She ventured a quick look around, then buried her head in the side of my neck again.
Without turning around, I knew there was something coming behind us.
I felt it before I heard it.
I heard a plane, and several small explosions coming our way. As the plane got closer, the explosions got louder. I saw geysers of dirt and trees erupting as the plane passed over. It was dropping bombs and heading our way.
As I looked for a place to dive into or some sort of shelter, the little one put her hands on both sides of my face, and looked at me with her deep blue eyes.
And I woke up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now ask yourself for me why I have dreamed about this little girl more than once. (I've dreamed about her a few times that I didn't write about, too.) Then ask yourself why I feel compelled to write down the big ones.
If you get a reasonable answer, let me know, will you?
Thanks.
If you don't, go read it.
You're back? Okay.
She was with me again last night.
I was trying to keep her safe during some weird sort of nighttime celestial event. I can't even begin to explain all that went on in the sky, but I was frightened and running to escape it. Something horrible was happening. I could see planets getting larger and moving together, and there were comets, fire, and electrical flashes. I could see asteroids colliding. It was deafening.
I was carrying my little dream girl piggyback. Her arms were tightly locked around my neck. I kept trying to shift her grip down so I could breathe while I ran.
I scrambled up a long hillside, tore through some blackberry bushes, scratched my face and hands, and got a huge scrape on my right arm.
It bled a lot.
I ripped the first two fingernails on my left hand back from the quick to get over the last part of it, and fell and smacked my knee a good one, too.
We ducked into a little restaurant... sitting out in the middle of the empty expanse of plain on top of the hill I'd climbed.
Although cars and motorcycles were parked in a paved and painted parking lot, (complete with two handicapped spaces) no road led to it or away from it.
It seemed strange, but we had to escape and that was the only place to go.
I opened the door and walked into a different world. No one in the small crowded restaurant seemed to have any idea there was anything going on outside. No one glanced our way as the bell above the door dinged, and no one paid any attention when the heavy door slammed behind me.
The place was alive with what I would think of as a typical Saturday night crowd. Lots of guys with long hair and three pitchers of beer at three pushed-together tables over in the corner.
I knew the motorcycles parked outside were theirs.
I also knew they were the ones who'd picked the selection currently playing on the jukebox. They were happily bellowing along with Take This Job And Shove It. Two of them were smoking some strange brownish cigarettes.
I could smell sweat, old grease, french fries and leather.
Dishes crashed in the kitchen, the cook dinged the little bell behind the bar, and the one waitress was very, very busy.
She was a stereotypical small town waitress, older than 50, with a bad reddish dye job. Used but not worn out. She wore a peach polyester uniform and cap. She swished as she bustled down the narrow aisles between tables. As she passed me, I could smell Aqua-net and Dentyne.
A few booths were taken up by small families with babies in high chairs and one or two small kids in booster seats.
An elderly couple sat near the little window. The only open seat in the place was at the counter, so I transferred the little girl from my back to my front and perched on the stool with her on my lap. She was facing me, and laid her head on my chest, little arms comfortably folded across her tummy. The moment I sat down, the noise level in the restaurant noticeably diminished. I could feel most of the people in the place looking at the back of my head.
I suddenly realized that although they had chosen small town stereotypical forms, they were the same beings I dreamed of the last time I carried this child.
They were just... watching.
I grabbed napkins from the chrome dispenser on the counter and tried to clean some of the blood from my arm.
Although I don't remember ordering, the waitress placed a plate in front of me. Hamburger, fries, milkshake. Two glasses, two straws. Thinking I'd offer food to the child, I looked down at her face to find her sleeping.
The scene changed, and she was holding my hand, walking through an overgrown yard. The three story dark gray house loomed over us. All the windows on the ground floor were broken. Glass glittered on the broad boards of the veranda.
After a solemn look at the porch and surroundings, my girl held up her arms to me, and I picked her up.
She ventured a quick look around, then buried her head in the side of my neck again.
Without turning around, I knew there was something coming behind us.
I felt it before I heard it.
I heard a plane, and several small explosions coming our way. As the plane got closer, the explosions got louder. I saw geysers of dirt and trees erupting as the plane passed over. It was dropping bombs and heading our way.
As I looked for a place to dive into or some sort of shelter, the little one put her hands on both sides of my face, and looked at me with her deep blue eyes.
And I woke up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now ask yourself for me why I have dreamed about this little girl more than once. (I've dreamed about her a few times that I didn't write about, too.) Then ask yourself why I feel compelled to write down the big ones.
If you get a reasonable answer, let me know, will you?
Thanks.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
My Dream Girl
On Wednesday night, I had an interesting dream about a little one I've dreamt of a hundred times before. It's Saturday evening, and this one is still with me. Ever have one like that? So compelling that you can't seem to lose it?
I entered the dream world in a dark outdoor setting. I could see flashes of fire and hear explosions and screaming in the distance. I saw a line of people (refugees?) trudging away ahead of me. I began walking toward them. They were moving more slowly than I was. I started to catch up. As I approached them, the last few stragglers were stepping around a big rock that was across the whole road. There was a short grade, then a very steep drop down into a pit. I watched a few of them glance down into the pit, and hesitate. One of the people stopped, put down the bundle he was carrying, and grabbed the rock with one hand as he reached down with his other arm into the pit. He came up with a girl child, barely bigger than a toddler. Maybe three? As he reached the safety of the road once again, I was just catching up to them. The little one reached out her arms to me, and without a word or a glance, the man placed her in my arms. She put her arms tightly around me and laid her head against my neck. Her hair was dark and damp and curled against her cheek. She smelled like dirt and decomposing leaves, but under that, a little like soap and shampoo. Somebody's baby.
She was making the little noises a child makes after they've been crying awhile and no one has comforted them. Her chest was hitching and she was breathless. As we started walking again, she trembled and whimpered into my neck. I rubbed her small back and wrapped part of my jacket around her. She gradually warmed, and when I looked down again at her pale little face, she was sleeping. Her tears had left lines in the dirt on her face. I gently wiped her face and dried the rest of her tears with the edge of my shirt. I carried her for miles. She was heavy, but so secure I didn't want to shift her position. When we caught up with the main group of people, several of them looked at me. They conferred with each other, but used no words. After a minute, they appeared to reach a conclusion, and sent one of the group to come take the child from me. She wouldn't let go. I didn't get the feeling that they meant any harm to her, but I felt like she was happier with me and couldn't bring myself to hand her off.
I carried her into different places/areas of the world I was in. I don't remember the different places well, but the same people were in all of them. At each shift between the worlds, someone tried to take her from me. The 'people' kept changing each time, too. They became less human and more, um, other. I began to realize that they weren't people at all, but a different being. Each time, she tightened her grip on me, buried her face in my shirt and refused to let go of me. I felt very protective over her. We switched between worlds, more and more quickly. She was still with me at every stop.
I wasn't afraid, I was interested to see each new place. Finally, I was compelled to walk down a path behind a completely androgynous person wearing a brown robe. I began to be afraid, although the surroundings hadn't changed and there was no visible difference in what I saw. The little one started to tighten her grip around my neck, just a bit at first, but by the time I got halfway down the path, she was starting to tremble. At a junction in the trail, one of the people who had tried to take her from me twice before was waiting. S/he held out her arms for the baby, but I could not bring myself to push her away or give her up. Many more of the beings came and gathered around us, although I had not seen them approaching. They leaned together, making no sound and no gestures. Then, one turned to me, and although no words were spoken, I knew that I was being told this. "This is the child of your soul, and we cannot separate you now. She must continue with you." Then, the path branched and I was sent in a different direction. I knew without being told that my path had diverged so the little one in my arms would no longer be afraid.
I came up through layers of sleep, a little at a time. She was still with me when I woke up. I could smell her. When I opened my eyes, of course, she wasn't really there. But all day long, I felt her weight in my arms and her face against my neck.
I entered the dream world in a dark outdoor setting. I could see flashes of fire and hear explosions and screaming in the distance. I saw a line of people (refugees?) trudging away ahead of me. I began walking toward them. They were moving more slowly than I was. I started to catch up. As I approached them, the last few stragglers were stepping around a big rock that was across the whole road. There was a short grade, then a very steep drop down into a pit. I watched a few of them glance down into the pit, and hesitate. One of the people stopped, put down the bundle he was carrying, and grabbed the rock with one hand as he reached down with his other arm into the pit. He came up with a girl child, barely bigger than a toddler. Maybe three? As he reached the safety of the road once again, I was just catching up to them. The little one reached out her arms to me, and without a word or a glance, the man placed her in my arms. She put her arms tightly around me and laid her head against my neck. Her hair was dark and damp and curled against her cheek. She smelled like dirt and decomposing leaves, but under that, a little like soap and shampoo. Somebody's baby.
She was making the little noises a child makes after they've been crying awhile and no one has comforted them. Her chest was hitching and she was breathless. As we started walking again, she trembled and whimpered into my neck. I rubbed her small back and wrapped part of my jacket around her. She gradually warmed, and when I looked down again at her pale little face, she was sleeping. Her tears had left lines in the dirt on her face. I gently wiped her face and dried the rest of her tears with the edge of my shirt. I carried her for miles. She was heavy, but so secure I didn't want to shift her position. When we caught up with the main group of people, several of them looked at me. They conferred with each other, but used no words. After a minute, they appeared to reach a conclusion, and sent one of the group to come take the child from me. She wouldn't let go. I didn't get the feeling that they meant any harm to her, but I felt like she was happier with me and couldn't bring myself to hand her off.
I carried her into different places/areas of the world I was in. I don't remember the different places well, but the same people were in all of them. At each shift between the worlds, someone tried to take her from me. The 'people' kept changing each time, too. They became less human and more, um, other. I began to realize that they weren't people at all, but a different being. Each time, she tightened her grip on me, buried her face in my shirt and refused to let go of me. I felt very protective over her. We switched between worlds, more and more quickly. She was still with me at every stop.
I wasn't afraid, I was interested to see each new place. Finally, I was compelled to walk down a path behind a completely androgynous person wearing a brown robe. I began to be afraid, although the surroundings hadn't changed and there was no visible difference in what I saw. The little one started to tighten her grip around my neck, just a bit at first, but by the time I got halfway down the path, she was starting to tremble. At a junction in the trail, one of the people who had tried to take her from me twice before was waiting. S/he held out her arms for the baby, but I could not bring myself to push her away or give her up. Many more of the beings came and gathered around us, although I had not seen them approaching. They leaned together, making no sound and no gestures. Then, one turned to me, and although no words were spoken, I knew that I was being told this. "This is the child of your soul, and we cannot separate you now. She must continue with you." Then, the path branched and I was sent in a different direction. I knew without being told that my path had diverged so the little one in my arms would no longer be afraid.
I came up through layers of sleep, a little at a time. She was still with me when I woke up. I could smell her. When I opened my eyes, of course, she wasn't really there. But all day long, I felt her weight in my arms and her face against my neck.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Shattered Dreams
Remember my dream from the other night? I've been amused this week by how quirky my subconscious is. Not all my dreams are so easy to interpret, of course. Remember how strange this one was?
Well, I shared my dream with a few friends who don't read my blog. (Can you imagine??? But they're not online. Can't hold it against them.) and they said I should write it up and send it as a letter to the editor.
So, I did.
The paper I sent it to printed a sanitized version of the letter. Left out the candidates names, omitted the 'little people' they carried around with them, and didn't mention that in my dream, they all shared the same bedroom. Hey, I didn't make the news, I just reported it.
I was aggravated that they messed with my letter. It's their policy to print letters exactly as they're received, typos, spelling errors or grammatical problems left intact. My own experience bears this out. Every letter I've ever sent to them was printed exactly as I sent it. They never even changed a comma.
I decided to email the editor with my opinion:
I found it quite humorous that the names of the candidates who moved into my "dream house" and the idea of the little people who tell them what to say were removed from my recent letter. It's especially amusing because it appears that almost anyone can say practically anything they want about the people running for office. Lots of that in YOUR newspaper, as a matter of fact. What made my letter different?
There's a story about a writer and editor stranded in the desert. They wander up and down the dunes, parched and hot, struggling to find their way out.When they are at the end of their endurance... staggering, barely able to move, the writer spots an oasis in the distance. Hope lends them strength, and they manage to make it to the lovely pool of water in a lush patch of grass, under the shade of beautiful trees.
The writer falls to her stomach by the water and begins to drink. Her thirst temporarily slaked, she notices a noise.
She looks up to see the editor peeing in the water.
"What are you doing?!" she asks, horrified.
"I'm making it BETTER." the editor replies.
Thanks for peeing on my October 26th letter.
Then, I signed my name and hit send.
::snort::
I'll let you know if the editor answers. My guess is no. But sometimes interesting things happen.
Well, I shared my dream with a few friends who don't read my blog. (Can you imagine??? But they're not online. Can't hold it against them.) and they said I should write it up and send it as a letter to the editor.
So, I did.
The paper I sent it to printed a sanitized version of the letter. Left out the candidates names, omitted the 'little people' they carried around with them, and didn't mention that in my dream, they all shared the same bedroom. Hey, I didn't make the news, I just reported it.
I was aggravated that they messed with my letter. It's their policy to print letters exactly as they're received, typos, spelling errors or grammatical problems left intact. My own experience bears this out. Every letter I've ever sent to them was printed exactly as I sent it. They never even changed a comma.
I decided to email the editor with my opinion:
I found it quite humorous that the names of the candidates who moved into my "dream house" and the idea of the little people who tell them what to say were removed from my recent letter. It's especially amusing because it appears that almost anyone can say practically anything they want about the people running for office. Lots of that in YOUR newspaper, as a matter of fact. What made my letter different?
There's a story about a writer and editor stranded in the desert. They wander up and down the dunes, parched and hot, struggling to find their way out.When they are at the end of their endurance... staggering, barely able to move, the writer spots an oasis in the distance. Hope lends them strength, and they manage to make it to the lovely pool of water in a lush patch of grass, under the shade of beautiful trees.
The writer falls to her stomach by the water and begins to drink. Her thirst temporarily slaked, she notices a noise.
She looks up to see the editor peeing in the water.
"What are you doing?!" she asks, horrified.
"I'm making it BETTER." the editor replies.
Thanks for peeing on my October 26th letter.
Then, I signed my name and hit send.
::snort::
I'll let you know if the editor answers. My guess is no. But sometimes interesting things happen.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Strange Bedfellows
Okay. Apparently I have a sense of humor even while I'm sleeping.
I dreamed about state politics last night.
Three candidates moved into my house. I had Ted Kulongoski, Karen Minnis and Ron Saxton (Oregon politicians on November's ballot) all sharing a bedroom. Every time I tried to get to the refrigerator or into the bathroom, one or two or all three were in the way. They were very intrusive! Ted, Karen and Ron, and the pocketfuls of little people they carried around with them were in an argument every time I tried to talk on the phone, watch a television show or read a book. The little people stood on countertops, sat on the arms of the couch or perched on shoulders, and whispered into Ted's, Ron's and Karen's ears whenever they were debating. Ted especially seemed quite dependent on what his people told him. He never spoke until after they told him what to say.
As I walked through the house, I kept finding pocket change all over the floor in little trails. Evidently all of them really do have money falling out of their butts! But, as in real life, the BIG money is really hard to find. Wonder where they have that hidden. Hmm.
And the intrusion into my life was parallel with what's currently going on. I can't drive to work, watch television, listen to the radio, or read a newspaper without a thousand signs, advertisements or editorials about the upcoming election.
Can't go get the mail without getting at least four flyers. No matter which politician the flyers come from, they all have the same theme. "Vote for me! My opponent is a shithead who eats small children and does mean things to his/her cat with a fork."
I'm going to be happy when all this is over. No matter who is elected, things won't improve for me, but the absence of the smell of bullshit will be refreshing.
I dreamed about state politics last night.
Three candidates moved into my house. I had Ted Kulongoski, Karen Minnis and Ron Saxton (Oregon politicians on November's ballot) all sharing a bedroom. Every time I tried to get to the refrigerator or into the bathroom, one or two or all three were in the way. They were very intrusive! Ted, Karen and Ron, and the pocketfuls of little people they carried around with them were in an argument every time I tried to talk on the phone, watch a television show or read a book. The little people stood on countertops, sat on the arms of the couch or perched on shoulders, and whispered into Ted's, Ron's and Karen's ears whenever they were debating. Ted especially seemed quite dependent on what his people told him. He never spoke until after they told him what to say.
As I walked through the house, I kept finding pocket change all over the floor in little trails. Evidently all of them really do have money falling out of their butts! But, as in real life, the BIG money is really hard to find. Wonder where they have that hidden. Hmm.
And the intrusion into my life was parallel with what's currently going on. I can't drive to work, watch television, listen to the radio, or read a newspaper without a thousand signs, advertisements or editorials about the upcoming election.
Can't go get the mail without getting at least four flyers. No matter which politician the flyers come from, they all have the same theme. "Vote for me! My opponent is a shithead who eats small children and does mean things to his/her cat with a fork."
I'm going to be happy when all this is over. No matter who is elected, things won't improve for me, but the absence of the smell of bullshit will be refreshing.
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