Suicide Dream

I went to bed last night tired but ebullient. 2011 is starting out well for me and I have only the most positive outlook. Considering what an incredible challenge 2010 was for me, that’s an incredible statement for me to make. So when I woke up from one of the most incredibly vivid dream I’ve had in years, it shook me.


A few days ago, I had an idea for a new story; actually it was a TV show about fraternal twins. Now, I don’t know where that came from because I am not a twin and I have the same passing curiosity for twins as the next person, but nothing more.

Last night my dream began in medias res, as dreams often do. I was a fraternal twin but I was the male twin! Something had happened to my sister twin and I was devastated. I’m only assuming she had died because the sorrow was unceasing.

So in the dream, I decide to take my own life. I have a number of sleeping pills and I take them. But somehow I know that from the time I take the pills, I have time to sit, compose my final thoughts to say good bye. As I try to gather my thoughts, I reach for a folder on my desk, there is paperwork and something that looks like a newsletter, I can’t remember. But whatever they are, they set off a melody of memories in my dream self’s consciousness. And my life replays in my head.

Suddenly I am faced with the unexpected realization that my life was filled with small quiet moments of joy and bliss. There were memories of people who slipped through the cracks of my life but left a semblance of grace and warmth. Moments of grace that I did not recognize at the time I was living through them. But only in hindsight did I see all the things I had missed and realized that life could always be more than just the pain and sorrow that I felt and if I had just hung on a little longer, the hindsight would have come.

But for my dream self, it was too late. I had taken the pills and my eyesight was starting to darken. I knew I didn’t have as much time as I thought I had, I realized in a panic, I did not want to die. I wanted to live because I saw that the joy was there, I just had to look. But as I panicked, I knew it was too late, my dream self was dying and my eyesight faded away and I died.

I died in my sleep and I woke up gasping. Relief flooded through me like an immersion into warmth, I was alive and it was all a dream. But what was the morale of the dream?

Life is a mosaic of emotions, riotous moments of unexpected joy, inexplicable anger, unbelievable love and a multitude of intangibles that made life worth living. When we only stare at the dark colors of grief and sorrow, we miss out on the bright colors of joy and love. We must step back and allow the picture to evolve into the landscape of our lives. With each color providing the depth to our existence, each color having its place and adding meaning to our lives.

But what was the meaning for me? I’m not suicidal; I’m too stubborn to ever admit that kind of defeat?! Then it dawned on me, I was close to giving up on something I loved, but for all the frustrating moments I’ve had, there were moments of giggles and laughter that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. I was about to hang up my sword and relinquish my general duties. The dream told me, not just yet.

Winter is the graceless season.

Those of us who labor under wintry skies know that to truly be warm, one must dress in layers. There must be an undershirt, thermal pants, a shirt, a sweater and for me, a hoodie then my coat. Actually I don’t have an actual winter coat; I just have a thick jacket that I bought in Vegas for $20. It’s thick, made of some strange fake velour and I’m happy with it. I don’t like to spend money on outerwear; it’s the optimist in me. Winter will only be three months, why buy clothes that I can only wear for brief time? So I have a baseball-type jacket which I can wear for several months, fall, winter or spring. I add a thick hoodie in the winter for added insulation.

I bring this up because by the time I get out for the day, I feel like a bumbling, stuffed sausage. Sometimes, if it’s really cold, I wear double socks; don’t laugh until you’ve walked in my shoes. That’s where the gracelessness begins.

How do you swing your arms in careless abandon as you walk down the street feeling the sunshine on your face? Your arms are in a permanent position of being stretched out, bending them is a feat of strength and the only thing exposed to the sun, if you have sun that morning, are your eyeballs.

I have a knitted sweater hat (handmade by mom) that is itchy and scratchy and makes me look like I have a really big afro hair do with no forehead or eyebrows. The hood comes over that and the scarf that has stretched out to 4ft long (It’s my homage to Doctor Who-although it isn’t multicolored) wraps around my neck twice. Effectively cutting the range of motion for my neck, with the hood narrowing my peripheral vision, when I turn to glance around me, my shoulders have to rotate completely. It’s a bitch when I drive. When I drive, whatever freedom of movement I could pretend I had is effectively taken from me.

So inevitably, when I get out of my car, I do my version of ‘spilling out’ I open the door, release the seatbelt and roll sideways in a 360°. When I am on both my feet, I am facing the back of my car, as if that’s exactly how I wanted to be. Two days in a row, I have caught my seemingly growing scarf in the seat belt and any movement to straighten out jerks me back towards my car as if I’ve just been clotheslined.

Then as I grab my things and stumble in the parking lot, spinning around to make sure no one saw me, I have to watch the ice patches or I will do a double back flip and an inadvertent roundhouse flying kick that results in my landing spectacularly on my back. Which I have done before as someone (a stranger) who was heading towards me, simply walked over me as I flailed like a turtle stuck on its shell. At that time, I had on a backpack full of books which cushioned any actual physical damage. Then it took some tries to get back up before anyone else saw and try to regain my dignity.

Winter is a graceless season where one learns that embarrassment is one snow boot away.

Happy Hollydays

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a laptop was on, they even unplugged the mouse.

Their wish lists was posted in the blogosphere

Knowing that Santa would read it with care.

The rugrats were nestled all snug in their beds

While visions of iPods danced in their heads.

With mom in her flannel and dad in his shorts

While the house filled with snoring reports.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter

Dad sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Someone was tangled over the Christmas display

A fat man in red with eight reindeer and a sleigh!

The fat man moved fast for someone his size

Untangled himself and disappeared with surprise

Santa had arrived, landing on the roof

Bringing incontrovertible proof.

He was chubby and plump, with a big round belly

That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

So dad took the cookies & milk and hid them away

Obesity is pandemic and wasn’t okay.

He had all sorts of presents and left them with glee

iPhones, iPads, and Blu-Ray DVDs

And laying his finger aside of his nose

And giving a nod, out the window he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle

And away they all flew like a heat seeking missile

But I heard his exclaim, ‘ ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night!”

Silent Realization

I found this old photo and I looked at the child I used to be and I remembered. I have a hole in my heart, an intangible something missing inside me. As a child, I knew it instinctively. I looked at the world through big, dark, melancholy eyes. 

I listened to the world around me, a perfect child; I spoke only when spoken too, seen but not heard. But my mind roiled in poignant observations. The silent accusatory look to the nurse who promised me the shot wouldn’t hurt. The sheer indignation when my nanny slipped me a lump of coal when I was a child, because I didn’t deserve a lump of coal. I was a good girl! But I held my tongue, nanny always knew me better than anyone else, ever. Perhaps she saw into my quiet silences and saw the potential mischief in my eyes.

Then I grew older, left my nanny and my childhood behind. The painful battle with puberty that seemed to turn that missing piece into a large gaping black hole of deep, inconsolable grief left me weak with doubt. Then adulthood, when I learned that perhaps I could fill the hole with fair weather friends, loose morals, cheap liquor and fast cars.  I threw bits and pieces of hearts and lives that I touched and left. Mad moments of sheer abandon, poor judgment and bad mistakes.

Now, I find that I have silently, subconsciously, filled the hole with a hardened cement of sour grief and ashes of regrets.

If I could, I would break the cement and drain the grief, to find room for the love I have missed.  

First Snow

First snow arrived

With its chill of winter frost

While Summer's last rose

Bends her head and weeps

Just The Way She Is

I’ve started listening to this song by Bruno Mars called “Just The Way You Are” and I’ve noticed that my friends don’t like it because 1)it’s horribly sappy 2)It’s patronizing to women.

I can’t disagree with the sappy description, it is sappy. But isn’t ‘sappy’ a requirement for a love song? I like the silly song; it doesn’t make me think too hard. When I hear the song, its upbeat tune shakes up the grey doldrums of my day. The chorus is:

 “When I see your face, there’s not a thing that I would change, cuz you’re amazing, just the way you are. And when you smile, the whole world stops and stares for a while, cuz girl you’re amazing just the way you are!”

Now the patronizing accusation is based on someone saying, that he’s singing about a very insecure woman and by extension, all women. I can’t assume to know what the songwriter was thinking when he wrote the song. I really don’t care; this is a cute little ditty that by next year this time I will have forgotten.

I like the chorus, because I know of one particular woman who fits the description of being beautiful with a smile that can stop the world turning on its axis (that’s a whole other story). But the more I thought about it, I can’t really agree that it’s a patronizing song, I over analyzed and came up with this hypothesis.

We live in a culture where young teen girls are considering plastic surgery to enhance their features, but to what end? Is every teenage girl going to be a movie star? Do they all need to look like one? Why? Are th

ey doing it with the hopes that boys will like them more or because they need to like themselves more?

When considered under that premise, can’t we just enjoy a boy telling a girl that he thinks she perfect just the way she is?

Birth

Into this world we are born, a wailing ball of detritus. We scream our fury; instinctively we know the fight before us. Do we challenge the fates then, with our wrinkly balled little fists? Or do we scream in frustration, only knowing hope as we learn the ropes of despair? Do we instinctively know that we are born alone, live alone, die alone and bemoan our destiny? Or is the scream one of anger and challenge, denying the darkness?

When we open our eyes, did we greet it with wondering awe or cold, angry disdain? Or are our eyes fresh sponges, waiting to absorb everything it sees? When does the spark of innocence in our eyes turn to blazing flames of passion? When does the passion slow to embers before it fades away?

I've been told I was born with an 'old soul', do my eyes look as if they have already seen too much after a day of life?