I dream of water

You know a lot of people dream about flying but me? I dream about water. never flying. In fact, just this morning(during my post sleep nap), I dreamed that I had a mini airplane that actually flew. It was red and soft plastic and fit two people. I made my daughter sit in the front and I squeezed my fat ass in the back. I turned on the engine and we sped down the driveway preparing for lift off. of course, seeing how this was MY dream, it never made it off the ground. Instead, it got stopped by A large Phish van pulling into the driveway of the neighbors house three doors down. I then realized that they were unloading musical equipment into the house. Seeing as how the house that I was living in was my parents house, I freaked out thinking that my parents were in no way going to go for the noise that a giant hippy party would produce. I abandoned my little airplane and went over to tell them this but realized that my step dad was already there...yelling. as usual. It was then that I realized that there would be lots of beer and pot and I told him so and all was well. We decided to go to the party. we walked in and found that the entire house was underwater for the party. There were rivers flowing down hallways, and ambient light pulsating from the ceilings. We made our way to the back yard and found it to be transformed into a lake, with water pouring off the balconies of the house, cascading into the lake below. There was a stage in the middle of all this and people were just swimming around and around as the band played. Due to the ambient light, all I saw were the shadows of these people. The only face that was made clear to me was my step dad's and he seemed elated. He always did like to swim...and drink beer and party.
Why am writing this one down? Only because I find it interesting that in this dream, there was the option to fly and I chose to swim. I dream of water constantly as any of you who have read these posts would know but never flying and I guess this dream was no different. I am destined to stay rooted to the earth, choosing to indulge in all the things that it has to offer. Mmmm. Water. One day? when I am rich? I shall invest my millions in a house that has a moat and a glass indoor swimming pool that borders my living room so that I can watch people swimming while I read my book or paint my paintings. Or better yet, so I can swim and peep into my living room, and catch a glimpse of an underwater world like the ones in my dreams...

super kids

I do not volunteer for the PTA, I do not involve myself in most of the extracurricular crap that most parents go in for but I do volunteer every year for superkids day(aka field day). I love it. I always volunteer for the younger grades because there is something about those sweaty little K-3rd graders that makes me smile.

Last year I got stuck manning the hockey station. I had to separate the little boys who were determined to whack each other to death with hockey sticks. I had to give them structure and by the end of the day, I found that not only had I enjoyed myself, my face hurt from laughing.

This year however, I went in hoping that I would get something different. I love little boys and all their energy but I was not letting those bitch moms stick me with the so called crappy job again. So I strode up to the sign in tent, and was immediately asked if I knew how to hula hoop. I said yes of course( a little tentatively I might add) but then luckily she looked up, saw the paint staining my fingers and asked if I knew how to paint faces. I nodded eagerly and she signed me up. I got over to the face painting station and found a couple of sour faced moms already gearing themselves up for an afternoon of annoying requests that they did not feel competent enough to draw. I told them that I thought I could probably draw anything so they give me a piece of paper and told me to give them some designs.

I drew, butterflies, skull and cross bones, fish, unicorns etc.
At this point, I was sitting in the shade but of course one of the moms had brought her 4 yr old daughter with her and could not be bothered to sit in the sun so asked me to move. I was then stuck in the sun, my face already beginning to sweat. I thought, "oh shit, this is gonna be lovely..."

Moments later, the kids came rushing out onto the playground, most of the girls heading straight for the fingerpainting tent. I immediately had a line of girls in front of me. All of them requested the obvious. Butterflies, unicorns etc. I did about 20 of these until a little boy made it to the front of the line. He asked me for a dragon. I have never drawn a dragon but I gave it my best shot. Apparently he liked it because all of his friends immediately lined up behind the remaining girls. Twenty minutes later, I had a line snaking around the side of the tent, made up of mostly boys and the other mothers kept calling out that they could take somebody because there was no line at their station. I heard one of the boys call out, "but SHE does cool ones!" I cannot express the silly pride I felt at that.

By the end of the day, I had painted about 20 dragons(my signature piece), 5 unicorns, 10 skull and cross bones, a sea turtle, what seemed like a billion tigers and flowers AND my favorites, a nacho with cheese(special request) and an amtrak train(another special request, he asked specifically for an amtrak train). I also drew about a handful of cartoon characters fished out from pockets(picachus?) and backpacks. Oh and I also made about 20 kids into kitty cats(we were told not to do the whole face but I just couldn't resist the little hispanic boy who wanted to BE a cat, obviously, starting a trend), complete with a black nose(this made me smile from the sheer cuteness everytime, there is not a kid alive that does not look adorable with a black nose and whiskers), whiskers and little black ears above their eyebrows. My other piece de resistance.

All in all, I had a great morning, got a tan and made a bunch of kids happy.

Oh and if I thought I could avoid the boys, I obviously need to think again. Most of my customers were boys because of course, I draw a mean dragon and a fierce tiger. go figure. My butterflies were only so-so...

swings and runaway trains

We all know that breakups are difficult. Especially in the beginning but even in the later days, post break-up. I thought that the most difficulty would come when I attempted to date. I was wrong. Well sort of.

The difficulty comes from the little things. The everyday things…like when driving down the street and spotting a tree swing in some rich person’s wide expanse of a lawn, I am reminded of a night when I was happy in the company of a man I was intimate with.

A night when we walked back to his house from the local redneck bar, weaving drunkenly, laughing uproariously as we entertained our imaginations with stories about ridiculous things. We philosophized about houses with faces, eyes and mustaches, titling the grouping of these fanciful houses, “mustache row” and “mustache alley,” while laughing so hard that our back and forth weaving grew more intense. With the onset of the giggles, the stories shifted to that of my current and very horrifying situation(getting my picture printed in ‘the slammer’), and we romanticized a situation where we just weaved and stumbled our way into the bushes only to have my face recognized later by some avid reader of the slammer. These memories actually make me smile now that I write but the initial memory that brought this trip down memory lane to the forefront was that damned swing. For some reason I was immediately overwhelmed by the memory of stumbling into somebody’s yard(still laughing) and jumping onto their picturesque swing, the branches creaking under my drunken and probably quite leaden weight as he moved in behind me to push. The swinging didn’t last long for fear of being caught but something about this memory just…sends a wave of sadness through me. It happens like this from time to time and there seems to be nothing I can do to stop it. I try to banish it from my mind, using visualization techniques where I put him on a train to somewhere far away but of course, that stupid train still manages to chug on back into town. I know that eventually these things will become less painful, dating will feel more normal and that when a new man puts his arms around me, I won’t find myself feeling the ghost of a body that seems to be missing. I will get comfortable with the weight of this new man as he cuddles me in my sleep and maybe I will even be able to learn how to love somebody new.

I am just learning it may be a little too soon because I have already had to untwine those new and unfamiliar arms from around my waist, murmuring that, “I am just not sure, not ready…” and then the unspoken thought, “bear with me?” Sigh. I can only hope that these once happy and now sad memories will begin to feel more neutral, like just another piece of my emotional history. Then (hopefully), I may finally be able to create new, happier memories that have no need for fading…have no need for boarding that ridiculous runaway train.

my life shifting has created an earthquake.

I hear and feel it rumbling against my feet as I stand here on the precipice of the rest of my life. Or at least the next few years. My entire North Carolina life has suddenly shattered and I will be forced to recreate my existence. After ten years of the same, a month and half shy of 32, I have to change. The knowledge of this, makes me feel like I might either fall through the ground with the weight of my existence and the life I have created or I may just float away into the clouds after the feeling of being firmly rooted to the ground for so long. Both are disconcerting. There is also another little part of me that just wants to lie down and cry and sleep but that is not an option. My only option is to move forward, work harder and rebuild my life while the wreckage still smokes and the pieces are still salvageable. My children need me to. I need me to. I have sat here for 24 hours, teetering on the brink of despair every couple of hours, every twenty minutes and I have sat here for the past 24 hours, feeling the surges of strength that are truly in my nature. I love a challenge. I secretly love change and have sought it out in every other aspect of my life...forever. So why not view all of this that way? I know it is right but all of this still feels so wrong because although my nature embraces change, my human condition tries to fight it.
I am really just writing this because I just want all of you that love me and worry about me to know that I will do my best to be alright and I know that your love and friendship will be a huge help for me to do just that.
So far everybody has shown me that. It is an amazing help to know that even though the job that I just got fired from has left me feeling betrayed, I will always be grateful for the people that it has brought into my life and that are now my family.

death and life of a bird. my heart in my head.

I rode my bike fast, my heart in my head, the sun on my face and the wind at my back. I saw a bird fall from the sky dead as she twirled down to the right of me, thumping down into the grass. I stopped my bike and looked up, seeing nothing but clouds and hot blue sky. I crouched down and looked at the bird seeing how her feet were stretched back as though to cut through summer air, her wings cockeyed at different angles as though she had just paused, mid-flight to give herself over to death. Her body was still plump and whole...a mystery to me. How did this happen? Where did she come from? Did her body just give up? Her life already lived? I just crouched there for a while, watching her wings fluttering in the breeze as her body stiffened. So many thoughts ran through my head. Slippery ones that my mind could not hold onto for my heart was too big as it occupied all the space intended for logic. Slowly I stood, my legs creaking as I remembered that I too was moving closer to death. I felt dizzy for a moment as my eyes readjusted to the open space surrounding me. the hot asphalt shimmering in the sun, the cool green grass in a long strip beside me, my bike turned over onto the curb, its metal frame glinting in the bright light. I walked over to it uncertainly, feeling the weight of an unnamed emotion pushing my body down, slowing me up. I picked up my foreign seeming bike and felt its familiar weight in my hands as I got on, my feet finding the pedals out of memory, my body knowing the way as I rode away with my heart still firmly in my head. As I began to pick up speed, I looked down at the road below and saw this: a cracked open blue eggshell its broken imperfection fragile in the man-made street, formerly the home of a baby bird, its feathers probably now ruffling in the breeze of its newly found flight as my logical human mind reasserted itself and my heart found its way back to my chest. I now pumped the pedals faster, the sun on my face and the wind at my back, the looming truth of death now visible on the horizon.

revelation: I like children.

I always said I didn't like children other than my own. Maybe I lied.
I volunteered to help out(with grades K-2) at my daughters' school today for their annual "fun field day." for those of you with no imagination or prior experience, this is where they have water balloon tosses, three legged races etc...
I woke up this morning and groaned inwardly when I thought of what I was to face today. Why oh why did I think this was a good idea? Maybe guilt over my lack of school participation got the best of me or maybe I secretly knew that it would be fun.
Anyhow, I got there, dressed in all black my tattoos on full display and made my way to the line of parents waiting to their visitors pass. I felt a bit of nervousness at having to be around all of those moms, most of them either older than me or obviously more normal and married than me. Fuck it, I thought. I am here for my kid and they can stare all they want...and they did. I got to the front of the line and the teacher just looked at me blankly with the obvious question in her eyes. "Who are you here for?" she asked and I told her my name and she said, "oh, You're Briana."
yeah and?
so after the awkward introduction and reassurances from my end that yes, I did belong here, I was sent to go work at the three legged race post. I looked over and saw another mom already there wearing a white blouse tucked into khaki shorts, her giant diamonds glinting in the sun as she put her hand up to shield her eyes as she got a better look and realized I was making my way toward her.
I got there, introduced myself and we chatted awkwardly. Eventually I got her to settle down and accept that I am quite normal really(or can at least pretend to be) and then...the kids came filing out. There were hundreds of them it seemed to my frightened eyes but in reality probably only about 75-90. They were all pretty little and really excited. You could see it vibrating in their little frames as they hopped from foot to foot, the boys shoving excitedly at their buddies, and the girls holding hands, their eyes alight with anticipation. There was a short speech from the PE teacher and then they blew a whistle and the kids came barreling across the field scattering into all different directions as they tried to decide which game they wanted to play first. At this point, they were content to choose whatever thing they came across first and so the three legged race got some action. I was armed with special little velcro straps to bind the children together and at first I was nervous. How in the hell can a self absorbed weirdo like me do this well at all? well the answer was apparently, pretty damned well. After strapping the kids together and blowing the whistle, the began frantically hopping, tripping and dragging(in one little boys case as he fell and got dragged to the finish line by his buddy) their way to the yellow cone and back. I watched this time and again, laughing so hard my face hurt, while I urged them on, clapping, whistling and cheering. I enjoyed watching the methods of the boys vs. the methods of the girls. The boys would just barrel their way through the course, hopping and dragging one another as fast and furiously as possible while the girls would hop gingerly along until they got to the other side and then they more often than not would confer at that point and come to the conclusion that holding hands and timing their steps would be more effective. more often than not, these two different methods would result in the boys getting to the finish line first while the girls hardly fell down and they definitely had a better understanding of M.O. I know for a fact that I had to escort 3 separate boys to the first aid station and only one girl. I must say, I was really enjoying myself. my partner parent on the other hand seemed slightly bored and annoyed by mine and the children's hyperactivity. Maybe I am just immature?
At this point one of the teachers came up to us and asked if one of us would like to take over for one of the parents that had to leave early. I just stood there not wanting to move but when my partner parent asked what activity we would have to man, the teacher said sheepishly, "hockey" We both looked over and saw a writhing mass of boys hitting eachother with sticks and flinging the ball all over the blacktop. I asked what we would have to do and the teacher, with a question in her voice said, "make sure they don't kill one another and that each one that wants to play gets a turn?" Sounds easy right? I looked at the lady I was working with and she quickly said, "I'll stay here if you want to go." I knew I was doomed after seeing how she had behaved most of the morning so I said o.k. and made my way over to the basketball court. the lady manning this station looked at me in relief and quickly scooted off, practically running to her car in her haste to get the hell away from the chaos. After dodging a few balls and wayward sticks thrown in rage, I realized I was going to have to organize some shit. there were only boys playing and I knew I could handle it. Boys do not get their feelings hurt all that easily. Their main objective was just to play and get points(in what way I do not know seeing as how nobody seemed to understand the whole net thing) and to not have anybody else get a longer turn than the other or to receive a better stick than them. The only problem with this was that their way of scoring points was not entirely working seeing as though nobody wanted to be the goalie and nobody understood who was who. they were just randomly dogpiling as they all frantically tried to gain control of the ball. I had to keep in mind that they were all under 8years old so they only had a rudimentary understanding of the whole thing. I blew my whistle and all of the boys stopped, looking at me with confusion in their eyes as I explained not only who was who but also, which net they had to aim for depending on what team they were on. I had to come up with a way to rotate the boys so that nobody got the boring job of being goalie for too long(boring because half the time, the ball never made it anywhere but beyond the court and into the wooded area). I cannot express how much I enjoyed this. All these sweaty little boys, taking this silly game dead serious until they just lost interest and dropped their stick in the middle of the court and ran off to some other fun thing. I of course was the one that had to brave my way to the middle of the madness to claim the extra stick so that one of the many boys hopping from foot to foot on the sidelines could have a turn. You have no idea how often i heard" I've been here forever and he cut!" or "he's been playing forever and it should be my turn!" and so on and so forth.
The funny thing is, I still enjoyed myself and found myself really good at cheering them on and keeping them focused as well as organizing this random game of hockey that had an ever changing team depending on the moment. It seemed that when the game really got going and points were actually being scored more kids would gravitate toward the game, begging to get in but the moment things fell to chaos, nobody was really interested.
So the point I am making is this, maybe I like kids after all. Or maybe I just like kids in large groups?
either way, I may definitely consider volunteering again next year.
Fuck, who knew?

the anti-me

Although I've suspected that my brain may be atrophying due to the nature of my job and the company I am surrounded by, surprised me last night in my sleep.
I of course began my dream at work because I had just left there in my waking life. It was the same and lame as always but for one small/huge detail. There was now a Jagerator(awesome machine that dispenses jagermeister) in the far corner of the meat dept near the door where the customers cannot see. We were all there late because we had to clean up the dept to make way for our new addition and in doing so, we also had to be subjected to a long lecture from the boss about how the Jagerator was something that we did not have free reign over. We would have to ask his permission each time we wanted a sip from it. I have no idea what other purpose this thing was supposed to serve other than to torture us because the little cups that we were to have our "sips" from were the size of a tablespoon. As I stood there pondering this and all the many ways around it, my boss finished his monologue and stepped out the door with a wave of his hand which I guess was to imply that he was leaving. The moment the door shut behind him, Cowboy(the oldest man I work with) said,"BAH, FUCK IT" and got out his coffee mug and started pouring. we all sheepishly followed suit and proceeded to get twisted. eventually I decided that I wanted to leave but could not drive so Maggie and her boyfriend Phill offered me a ride because Maggie was not drunk. She happened to have a pickup truck in which I got to ride in the back, feeling the breeze on my face and in my hair. I felt drunk and happy even though my house seemed as though it was really far away in a very hilly neighborhood that did not really look familiar but my dream mind assured me that the drunkenness was the thing skewing my knowledge of reality. The neighborhood was full of mansions and I was happy to think that I was rich but then Maggie finally pulled into the one driveway that accompanied the smallest house on the block. the house was a brown seventies style one story track home with an odd, carport/porch with a buzzing, dingy, yellow light that I could see the bugs swarming around lazily. I jumped out of the back of the truck and swerved toward the door, Maggie and Phill following me. I went through the way of the carport and found myself in an old brown and yellow kitchen where I opened the beige fridge only to find not much of anything but a can of budweiser and some limp carrots. I slammed the door and walked out into the living room where there was a man that I did not recognize stretched out on a lazy boy snoring as the TV blared an infomercial about Ginsu knives. I walked down the hall toward the room at the end that had a light on and hardcore music growling from behind the cracked door. I pushed open the door as Phill and Maggie stopped in the hallway about 3 ft back, lingering uncomfortably as if they knew what I would find.
within the room there was a four poster bed with a wizened little black woman lounging in it, her old fashioned nightgown hitched up to her waist, her offwhite baggy, holey underwear bunched up, showing the harsh shape of her pelvis underneath as she held a black little baby around six months old that was fat as hell across her stomach and cradled it with her left arm. Beside her was a little dirty redneck looking white kid huddled under a a brown, scratchy looking blanket with one hand stretching out and over, holding onto the fat babies ankle. The music was still deafening yet I could hear them discussing the effect that the screaming may have on the baby. I turned away in embarrassment ushering my awkwardly hovering friends into what seemed to be my room.
Nothing in the room was really familiar. It was all ALMOST familiar but just fell short of anything I really recognized. There was a single bed against the far wall, a little to the right and covered with a dingy white afghan that was littered with stuffed animals. next to the bed was the kind of nightstand I had when I was a little girl but slightly different. It was classic seventies, with the white wood and gold edging and each drawer was decorated with a fancy little handle that had carved little angel faces in it. on top of the nightstand was a boombox that was little and pink with unicorn and butterfly stickers on it. I knew something was not right so I told Maggie and Phill to sit down while I found some clothes to change into so we could leave. the room was awkward and small with a dirty dark pink and white shag rug that they sunk down to while sitting as close as possible as though they were apprehensive about something. maybe they were picking it up from me? or maybe it was just something strange in the air of the house. I made my way to the closet to the left of the door and could still hear the screaming metal from down the hall and now what seemed to be a small child screeching. I began to search through the closet that suddenly looked just like my closet from the room I grew up in but none of the clothes made any sense. they were all floral prints in pinks, blues, yellows and mauves yet...they were the exact cut of each article of clothing I actually own in real life. even the shoes were mostly the same but all the wrong colors and sizes. at this point I spotted a beige art portfolio on the top shelf of the closet and thought that I should look into it and make sure that my art was still intact. I opened it and lots of brightly colored papers filled with butterflies and hearts and big bright shapes of nothing in particular floated to the ground. amidst them was a passport. I opened it and some photographs fell out and I picked them up and upon looking at them realized that they must be of my oldest daughter but she was an adult so I was even more confused at this point. It was then that i decided to look at the passport. The passport belonged to Barbara Martinez. She looked just like my daughter and her birthday was August 14 1987. Suddenly it all made sense. I walked into the wrong house. This was Barbaras room. not Briana. an honest mistake I guess. My face grew red as I turned to my friends and told them what had happened. you know what they said? "Oh yeah, we were wondering if that was what had happened!" as though this were a normal occurrence?
the subconscious is a strange thing.

Gimme a break!

Today I spent my time going from gallery to gallery. The day was muggy and I was sweaty and desperate. I feel as though I have made some headway but not enough. I see now that this is going to take more work than I anticipated. Why oh why did I think I needed a break? Nothing worse than walking into a nice clean gallery, covered in paint, sweat and tattoos knowing that nobody knows you or believes you when you say that you can bring it. sooo, I will just have to prove that I can. BUT, for those of you that know my work and know something that i may not when it comes to galleries that may be looking for some cartoony, brightly colored paintings filled with naked women and blood well then hey, you know where I be. There, I have just proved to myself that I can be shameless.
HA.

the surgery fiasco

I knew it wouldn't be easy. I had been dreading this day for weeks. It did not help that the moment my little one awoke, she began to cry in fear. It was the day that she would get her tonsils and adenoids removed. I know this sounds basic but as a mother, it is major. anytime the regular flow of your childs life is tampered with, it is major. She was shaking so badly that I had to carry her in. The check in was quick (and monetarily painful) and then they called her back. they checked her vitals, got her changed into her hospital gown and explained to her how the gas mask that was going to make her sleep would work. she was still shaky and kept looking to me to gauge my reaction to all of this and I had to be a big liar and just nod and smile and tell her it would be fine, no big deal. they let me have one more kiss and then ushered me out to the waiting room
and this is where I sat with my step dad and friend, not for very long when suddenly her doctor was in the waiting room saying that everything was o.k. and done and I could see her soon. about thirty minutes later, My dad and I were led back to the recovery room and that was when I saw her. my poor little girl. her face looked bruised and swollen, her eyes were bloodshot and she could barely focus on my shape and to make my heart feel like it was being squeezed in a vise grip, she tried to force her drugged features into a smile while attempting to tell me that she was o.k. as her heart monitor began to speed up I shushed her, sitting as close to her as her little hospital bed would allow, stroking her face, telling her to close her eyes while I watched the heart monitor slow down as I touched her face talking in a low, soothing mom voice about nothing important. about what we would do when we got home and what kind of popsicles she would like. she fell back to sleep and the nurse eventually came back in to give me the frightening instructions about her recovery and the potential dangers. I nodded bravely as though this were something I dealt with on a daily basis, potential bleeding, fevers and puking. eventually another nurse came in to wake violet up and take out her I.V. She was surprisingly brave, looking to me for acknowledgment over this. I nodded in all seriousness while telling her that "my little lady is as tough as nails" as the nurse slid the tube out of her hand and she fell back in relief, the codeine that the nurses had given her prior to my arrival in the recovery room beginning to affect her. she looked at her band-aid smiling and admiring the fuzziness of elmo's legs out loud as I turn to smile at my dad. apparently she was a bit wasted. the nurse came back asking her if she wanted to ride in a wheel chair and she drunkenly insisted that she wanted her Grandpa to carry her. No problem. I pulled the car around and my dad put her in it and I got out and began strapping her in and bundling towels around her in case she got sick from the medicine. she just looked around dazedly and then began to admire her band-aid again.
Once home, I realized that my dad had bought her some french fries and a milkshake(something the nurse said she could have when she was READY) and the little sweetie tried to make her way through a couple of bites of the milkshake doggedly, to make her grandpa happy.
So we made it through the day fairly peacefully, her on the couch, me at her feet reading a book. Hovering, constantly in her peripheral afraid to move afraid to leave her alone. Not wanting for her, even if for a moment to feel as though I was not right there. Ready if she needed me.
she ate several bowls of ice cream only whimpering when the pain medicine began to wear off and we had to wait 45 minutes for the 4th hour to strike. the magic moment where she could feel better again. even if for only a couple of hours.
I kept her up until 10pm so that she could take one more dose of her medicine. she was exhausted after refusing to sleep at all during the day. once she had the medicine, she drifted off to sleep as I continued to read my book, monitoring her sleep. I eventually closed my book after I heard her breathing become even and right before I shut off the light she snapped up to a sitting position, clawing at the walls attempting to pull at the molding on the wall that resembles a door while saying, "why? why?" and then she stood up to half kneeling, half standing position, poking at the painting above her saying, "why won't this work?" I found this a bit amusing and a bit frightening as I calmed her back down, knowing she was not awake as her eyes were glossed over and red, not quite focusing in on me as I spoke to her. once her breathing became even I again I turned out the light again, falling into a light sleep only to be awoken by her ragged breathing, her snoring louder than a grown man and I began to get a little worried. in between the loud, choking snoring sounds I would her breathing pause...for way too long. I would nudge her and she would begin to breathe again. I turned to her so that I could watch her in the dim light. Her mouth was swollen, her tongue pushing up against the roof of her mouth, her breathing forced through her swollen little nose. Fuck, I knew I would not be able to sleep well that night. I drifted off again only to awake again thirty minutes later to the sound of her choking and whimpering and I gave her some water and made her breathe, trying to clear her throat gently and she fell back to the pillows falling back into a fitful sleep. I sighed and turned over to my back, listening to her breathing, not breathing myself so as to hear her better. silently wishing that I was not alone on this particular night. though I fought sleep, I still found myself dreaming. I found myself alone in a house, searching for her, climbing upstairs, calling her name as I could hear her choking to breathe somewhere above me. I found her hunched over a toilet at the top of the stairs, a toilet suspended in air above the backyard. I could see the back of her head as she puked dark red blood as well as the yard below, puddles and ponds everywhere. I reached forward to hold her hair back and missed...it was then that I fell forward past her and down into the yard my foot somehow catching on a wire on the way down. the wire was connected to a giant speaker and when I hit the ground I saw it hit next to me, falling into a puddle of water, sparking with the sound of electricity that was still connected to a power source and I saw the blue light zap through the water toward me as I leaped up running away trying to avoid the puddles as I attempted to make my way back into the house. not seeing any way in without getting electrocuted I began to hear her cry again. it was a plaintive sound, bringing me back to my reality, I opened my eyes to see her sitting upright in the bed again and this time her face was contorted in pain. I looked at the clock and saw that it was finally time again to give her her medicine. I began to get it ready and she was just getting more and more panicky and I knew what was coming if this continued. "Take a deep breath and calm down or you will be sick" I could hear it in her voice, I could hear it coming. She just nodded her head as her hands flew to her mouth, the dark red sick pushing out from between her fingers. I grabbed her up, racing her to the bathroom, my sleep tired legs barely working as she wretched onto my hands, my arm, the blanket that had fallen to the floor in my haste. I got her to the bathroom as the flung her self over the toilet bowl, choking and wretching as I scrambled to keep her hair out of it, the mantra in my head screaming, 'Fuck, fuck, oh fuck please stop' While my actual voice told her firmly that she needed to breathe as I watched the dark vomit turn bright red with blood knowing that the force of her heaving was forcing the scabs to burst. I held her hair with one hand, wiping her mouth with another while still coaxing her to stand up and breathe. Finally, the moment passed and she was sobbing and falling to the floor as I scooped her up and then attempted to wet a washcloth to wipe her face and nose. I went to the cupboard and pulled out new bedding that I set on the floor only to see her curl up on it still sobbing as I ripped the dirty bedding off of the bed. I moved her and then got everything back to normal, tucking her in and climbing in next to her knowing that sleep would not come to me again. I lay there the rest of the night, reading, listening to her breathing and prodding her when her inhalations paused for too long and I write this now from the land of the walking dead...
Though I am thankful for auto pilot, I am sometimes all too aware of how difficult doing this by myself is...but we will make it through. we always do. I make sure of it.

what is it and why do we contemplate it?

falling asleep I am thinking of the many faces of love, awakening my mind is stuck in a rickety airplane set up like a movie theatre with windows on either side that cannot get more than 20 feet off of the ground. we bump up and down, the trees flying past, my heart full of fear, my hand gripping that of the bespectacled girl next to me I think desperately about getting off of this awful contraption. I hope like hell it never makes it into the air. It begins to ascend, the sound of branches cracking against the side of the plane, the street wavering below. I chance a look out the window and the plane dips toward the tree lined street below and I jerk myself awake in fear, startling him in his sleep and he jumps a little then pulls me in closer.
Back to my original thoughts. There was once a time when I thought that love was something to be attained, something that could be possessed. I learned later in life that love is a verb. love is something that is felt and acted upon in a moment of passion. whether that passion is of the lustful or familial variety, it is inspired by passion just the same.
I have as of recently felt this bubbling up of emotion, of passion, of loving feeling. Now I understand that this feeling can be fleeting and intermittent but there is something so profound about it when it alights on your heart and mind. Or maybe it is profound in some cases because it does not come randomly or of it's own free will(does love have a will?) it is generated. it is a spark that is created and then coaxed so that it may burst into flame in the case of lust and when the flame gets hot and burns bright, everything can fall away and the feeling of buoyancy the heat causes in your body and mind can be exquisite... until the flame burns out...but we won't think about that. Then in the case of family love, it is like an old ember that just burns and burns, sometimes flaring up and surprising you with its intensity other times just smoldering and waiting, the warmth something to be counted upon. Like a commodity. Is there a way to combine the two? or are they just two separate things? can the spark flare up, burn bright and then smolder while waiting for a breeze of desire or inspiration so that it may be regenerated, bursting back into flame?
These are the things I lay there thinking about. To no end of course because I still know that love is a verb and not a material thing. It is acted out when it is felt and there is not usually any rhyme nor reason. at least not in my experience. although maybe that is because I only know the smoldering ember that I keep hidden from the outside world and have only experienced the spark and quick burning flame once or twice.
who knows? who cares? It is just something to be contemplated as I lay there naked, comfortably intertwined with the body of another. a body that has created a spark within me that bursts into flame from time to time...much to my delight as it leaves me feeling warm and content. For now.

Feelings are gay.

I lie there, the warmth of the afternoon sun filtering in through a gap in the curtains. I listen to the in and out rhythm of his breathing as he falls into sleep, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, twitching as his body fights the vertigo that the subconscious meeting the conscious can create. I concentrate on the feeling of his chest against my shoulders, stomach against my back...from the top of my neck to the bottoms of my heels we are connected by an unbroken line of warmth that feels as though it in itself is alive. there is something very soothing about this. this is something I have not felt in a long while. I feel as though I could lie there forever, never feeling restless to get away, never trying to untangle myself from an awkward embrace because I embrace the awkward as our laughter smooths it away...there is no bad feeling here.

I blindly toss my eggs into one basket haphazardly, not caring if they break or get lost. not caring if the basket is even there to catch them because if it means that I get to hold onto this feeling of comfort and affection if only for a moment, then that moment will be precious as long as I feel it. it has been a long time since the warmth of another penetrated the cool exterior of this self. making it glow from the inside out.

so fuck it, I toss my eggs and my caution to the wind because life is short and I move forward with or without these experiences. all I want to know is feeling, the feeling of warm breath on the back of my neck, of laughter late at night, of a painting started, a painting finished, of being loved by a daughter a brother a friend, of all the things that make me want to live because I am tied together, moment by moment by a string of feelings and emotions that have been woven to create this self.

the thought of the future is a frightening thing, but the thought of feeling happy is not.

her and me. the pain of separation.

I have been waiting for weeks for a dream that is worth remembering. I remember a little bit of a dream last week involving my best friend and a green hat but not enough to write about.
Last night I had a dream that hurt me emotionally and it was about this same friend. This friend is like a sister to me, she is my family.

I dreamed we were in a smoky bar, the music was loud and we had to shout to be heard. She and I were with some other people whom I do not know in real life. We were both drinking heavily and I was acting like a bit of an asshole. I upset her by talking about something private in mixed company and she decided to leave. I begged her not to, telling her not to drive drunk while I grabbed for her elbow. She yanked her arm out of my grasp and attempted to stomp out the door, weaving slightly. I sighed, giving up, figuring that I would call her and apologize later. I turned and began talking to our friends again and that was when one of them pointed out to me that she really should not have been driving and that I should go after her. I panicked, running out of the hot smoky bar and out into the cool damp night, glancing over to where her car should have been. It was then that I saw her silver taurus down the road in the distance...again, weaving slightly. I ran after the ghost of her taillights, frantically believing that I would catch her, that she might see me, sense me in the rearview mirror and turn around, understanding my concern, forgiving me my stupidity. I ran until I saw the red light disappear over the horizon and then I collapsed onto a nearby bus bench, wondering what to do next. I fell asleep(passed out drunk) and then woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. I opened my eyes and found that I was in my bed. Confused I reached for the phone and opened it to the sound of her mothers voice calmly telling me that my friend had died. She said that nobody knew how, that she had just disappeared and was presumed dead. I began to wail, knowing that it was my fault, that I had done wrong by not being able to catch her before she drove. I felt out of control and only vaguely heard her mother telling me to calm down. I heard her say that I should come over to get some of her daughters things because she could not possibly be expected to deal with them. I agreed and decided to ride my bike over to her house in the city but as I neared her residence, I began to feel a fluttery panic in my chest as though I was standing on the edge of a cliff, my head felt light and I just wanted to lay down and go to sleep. I looked up and saw that I was already at her moms house and that there was no turning back because she was in the front yard, her back to me while cutting her flowers. she turned to me and waved, gesturing me inside. My body immediately felt heavy and I just wanted to be alone with my impending grief but I knew that it was not possible because I had a responsibility to her mother. a responsibility to take care of the things that my friend had left behind. I walked into the house and there in the front hall lay a pile of my sisters things. Her paintings, her clothing, a black, fluffy jacket that she wears every winter, a pair of pants I used to laugh at in high school and above all, a stack of unfinished sketches for paintings. My mind focused on the sketches, feeling so many things at once. Feeling the complete weight of my loss. I would never be able to talk to her about what thoughts inspired these sketches, I would never be able to see what her lovely dark mind would come up with next. I would never be able to call her, never be able to laugh with her, paint with her, hug her, kiss her, know her. The emptiness was overwhelming and the feeling of vertigo became unbearable. I sank to the floor, my head in my hands, images of her flashing through my mind while I felt as though I might throw up. I could hear her moms voice somewhere above me, asking me if maybe I could do "something" with these unfinished paintings. maybe paint on them, make them whole. the idea of trying to face the completion of these paintings alone, without her was so frightening that I began to cry. I felt my face getting hot and flushed and the tears were wetting my cheeks while somehow managing to ground me back into the reality of my pain. I suddenly felt as though I was in a movie, the sound of "return to oz" by the scissor sisters swelling in the backround, my sadness a complete physical and material thing tugging me to open my eyes and realize that I was in my bed, that I was awake and that I had just experienced an unbelievably real nightmare that had left my cheeks wet with tears, my throat tight with emotion.
needless to say, the beginning of my day was dark and confusing.
Not the best thing to write about but I needed to. I needed to feel that sadness again so that I could evaluate just how much I love her.
My best friend.
I am so thankful that I have somebody like her.

dirty girl

I had a dream the other night that is still haunting me with its dark humor and strange depth.
Although first off we must get the facts out there. I am not a full fledged lesbian. In fact, I do not believe that I am any sort of lesbian at all. I like kissing them from time to time and that is about it. well, read on and you will see.
I was on a bed in a pale yellow room with nothing interesting about it save the fact that it was small. I was kissing the most beautiful middle eastern woman ever and her girlfriend was sitting in the chair at the end of the bed, watching. As I kissed the girl I became aware of the way she smelled and I started to panic. I could feel her pushing her body up against mine, trying to force my attention to her vagina..."Oh God," I thought. the last thing I want to do is go down on this girl...but isn't that what she wanted me to do? isnt that what lesbian girls do? was her girlfriend noticing my hesitancy? Am I being rude? As I pondered my situation, The girl pulled away from my embrace and pushed me back on the bed and then stomped out of the room. I sat there stunned for a moment and then looked over at the girlfriend and suddenly noticed her appearance. she had a round face and high forehead, complete with rosy cheeks and blond straight hair, pulled back into a junior high ponytail. she was wearing an old lady blouse that as I watched, she began to remove. underneath she had on a black lacy bra and her tits were just spilling out over the top, crowning the chubby body that bordered on voluptuous. she moved toward me and we began to kiss and this time, I was enjoying it, I was getting excited. especially when she told me her little secret: she could not get off on oral sex alone and felt as though she was living a lie. she pulled out a double ended dildo and told me that she wanted to have sex. She handed the toy to me and I just sat there holding it awkwardly. I did not know what to do. I did not feel comfortable using it and then suddenly realized that I was no longer turned on. I tried to pretend that it was and set it on her stomach and began rubbing it back and forth over her bellybutton. she shuddered in disgust and pulled away from me while telling me calmly that this was why she hated women. they were too unsure of themselves and not aggressive enough. I was indifferent to this information and proceeded to ask her what she was going to do about the girlfriend she had in the other room. she sighed and told me that she did not know what to do because she had a male lover that she saw from time to time. a lover whose presence she was finding it increasingly more difficult to hide from her girlfriend seeing as how he was made of moths and everytime he came to visit her, he left moth residue all over the walls. She then began to tell me that fucking him was great because she could feel the moths moving inside her. as she spoke I began to look around at the walls and could see the moth carcasses stuck to the walls dead and in the final throes of dying, their bodies gyrating, their wings fluttering as their smooshed guts kept them glued to the pale yellow paint. I suddenly realized that I had to get out of there. I got up and fled from the room only to find the girl I had offended originally lying on a yellow beanbag, tears streaming from her eyes. It was then that i realized how beautiful she was. I looked at her blue green eyes framed with thick, straight dark lashes, her short dark hair shining in the light that was streaming in from the window lighting up her olive skin, bringing attention to her dark, perfectly shaped eyebrows and rosy cheeks glowing beneath the smooth light brown of her skin. I had the overwhelming urge to console her and so I crouched down, leaning into her face, smelling her scent and told her how beautiful she was. how radiant she seemed when she had tears in her eyes. she lashed out in anger and hurt and told me to leave her alone and though I wanted to stay and make her feel better, I stood, feeling my knees creak in protest and made my way out through the kitchen door and into the cold sunlight, the only thing on my mind the desire to be what I am not. a lesbian. I wanted to hold her and give her the love she needed. I wanted to hold her beauty and revel in it yet I could not because I knew that despite the moment I was in and the empathy I felt, I still craved the crass, rough sexuality of the man. always have always will...against my better judgment. against all odds and against all the past pain inflicted on my person I still crave the company and sexual attention of the man.

The funny thing about this dream is that i believe that i may not have only been myself, I may also have been the beautiful girl as well. not to say that i am beautiful but to say that I know her pain. I know what it is like to be rejected and confused.
maybe I was the curvy blond as well, dirty and confused, craving the seemingly "disgusting" touch of a man.
who knows. all I know is that the damned dream has haunted me.

the devil beats his wife.
Current mood: amused

I drove home today as the devil beat his wife. The clouds a dark curtain to the left of my vision, the bright sunny rain pouring down on the windshield of my car. I look into my rearview mirror to see the wind whipping the trees and the sun and bright clouds pushing the dark off of the horizon. In the middle of all this is a rainbow and I cannot help but smile at the idiosyncrasy of the term, "The devil's beating his wife"...because it is usually then that the sun comes out through the rain and lights up the rain water like a prism...creating what we all love most: the rainbow. which I guess could also be known as the accidental child of the devil and his wife? a little beautiful, "whoops!" haha. Maybe that is why he is beating his wife.
How ridiculous.

the bond of family
Current mood: nostalgic

I race through the downpouring of rain to pick up my kids from school today. I am in a hurry because the one time I was late, my five year old was crying and worried. I make it just in time and as I pull up I see my little one waving at me wildly, her hair escaping from her hairtie and plastered to her forehead, her sweater sagging off her shoulders from the weight of her back pack. standing next to her is her big sister, staring at me with an expression of disdain that only a pre-teen can execute with such ease. they are like night and day, the younger clad in pink stripes and black mary janes, hair slicked back in a sagging pony tail with little strings of hair escaping around her face, the elder in baggy jeans and a powell peralta long sleeved t-shirt complete with baggy black zipper hoody, her hair hanging in her face, her vans untied with trailing, dirty white laces.
at home they fight and argue, pitting themselves against one another as though their livelihood depended on it and yet whenever I see them outside with other kids, at school or in the front yard of our home, they always seem to be huddled close, the eldest standing tall and awkward, the younger pressing against her while standing on one foot, her hands on her hips, her other foot thrust forward, her face a study in tough, while her big sister talks it up, leading the way with her words while her little sister backs her up with her body language. out there it is them against the world, at home it is always the older telling the younger how annoying she is, the younger telling the older to get away from her. out in the real world, the roles change and they back eachother up or seek eachother out. as I pull up today, they both spot my car and big sister registers my presence before trudging sullenly toward my car while little sister bounces and skips half a step behind, her little hand thrust out to grab onto her "arch nemesis/ best friends" backpack, to find safety and confidence through family.
something about this makes my heart feel tight...maybe because it reminds me of me and my big brother. He is the first one I ever looked up to, my first hero, my first enemy, my first friend. I recognize this relationship dynamic and I approve. It makes me more happy than they will ever know.
life may be hard when you have two mouths to feed but life would be lonely and boring without them.

Threes company + me
Current mood: amused
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

I dreamed that I was on the set of Threes Company. I was actually part of the show but of course, since I was, things took a turn for the worse. They were asked to leave their apartment and jack called me to come over and deal with mr. ferley. I went over and the house was empty no furniture, no nothing. there was a couple there looking around and talking about renting the place. I ran them off by telling them that somebody had died there. as they walked out the door, the phone rang(everything was gone except for the phone I guess) and I answered. it was Mr. Ferley calling to see if everyone had left yet. He thought I was janet but I told him I was cindy so that I could play stupid. he commented on my deep voice and I told him I had a cold. that was when I heard a rustling in Jacks room. I opened the door and there was ALL the furniture from the house and jack, janet and cindy...hiding behind the upturned couch. I gently closed the door behind me and made sure to take a good look around before I asked them what they were doing. I had never seen the rest of the house before. I had only seen certain angles of it and I was dying to see the rest. the weird thing was that my mind made sure that all of the furniture was there. the couch, the phone stand, the painting on the wall. so enough about that for now, apparently jack and janet had decided that they were not moving out at all and that they would just hide all of the furniture in the room figuring mr. ferley would be too lazy to ever look. they were counting on me to distract him and keep the other people from moving in...which I did. at that point, there was a knock at the front door and I ran out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind me. I sprinted up the living room step to the door and opened it on a real life mr. ferley dressed in a blue jumpsuit. he asked me if I was the new tenant and i said yes. I began to nervously walk around showing him how much I loved the place. I walked toward the back wall and opened the blinds that never opened during the show and found that they were broken. I told him i wanted them fixed and he left. I looked out the window and was surprised by what I saw. there was a whole sunken stone back deck, complete with firepit. I wondered why this was never in the show. I remember larry having an outside but not these guys. at this point I decided to go back in and find the gang. I heard them talking and the shower running. I always wanted to know what the bathroom looked like so I went in. the girls were in there trying to coax jack inside(funny, I remember him never being allowed). I helped them, telling him that now was his chance. He ran in there and they told us that they were going to make out. janet was on top of cindy on a bench like the ones in the gym or sauna room. it was steamy and cindy was naked, janet was not. they started to kiss as jack and I stood there openmouthed. that was when it got weird. janet pulled back and just started slapping the shit out of cindy. over and over as her cheek got redder and redder and her fogged glasses flew off. I was mesmerized but jack walked out, breaking the spell and waking me up.
God, I am so fucked up.

hahaha the things that are not funny are so funny.
Current mood: amused
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

as I drove home on my break from work last night I saw the most beautiful sunset. flaming orange and hot pink light reflecting off of storm clouds as the sun made its descent. I saw pink light blazing on the steeple of the church as I passed. I looked away because it was just so overwhelming, so bright...and that is when I saw it. The most magnificent rainbow ever. it had every color that a rainbow should have and I could see the entire arc of it, where it began and where it ended and it looked to me as though it may end over my house...and that is when I knew that it was a sign...from God. a sign from God that I should be gay. because well, I mean it is so obvious right?
such beauty has to mean something right?

mice make me want to run screaming.
Current mood: exhausted
Category: Life

I think there is a mouse in my house and I really should be sleeping because I am so exhausted my mind is barely in working order.
But I am scared of mice and I am scared of my dreams tonight.
This past week, my dreams have been littered with old lovers and connections lost or never even found. I dreamed of pulling one of said lovers from a dark pit where he was being attacked by something otherworldly...I was at the top of a slide, on my stomach reaching down into the abyss... I grabbed him by the wrists and pulled him up to me, pushed him up above me so that I could climb up and over him, look down at him, admire him...love him...if you know what i mean.

I dreamed I was a teacher at a boarding school and and almost got fired for being out too late with a man that I had been seeing. I was confronted with evidence of my rendezvous in the form of dirty green and gold feathers that had fallen off of my dress as I ran through the dark streets knowing I was late and not wanting to be stuck with the man in question. after being chastised and told to go to my room and pack my things, I found myself in the corner wedged between the wall and the bed with another old flame that still has yet to go out and I curled up with him, only to have him flip over and hold me down, overpowering me, making me love him...

I dreamed of sitting, holding hands with the one time love of my life, looking down and seeing our hands old and liverspotted, with nothing but swirling dark space below us.

I dreamed of running, running, running, faces blurring past in my desparation to create a distance between myself and a man who still to this day tries to suck my strength away. I woke up sweating from that one, knowing that I of course...was born to run.

This weekend my real life was a menagerie of new flames flickering and old flames sparking in agitation as I was bombarded by a series of situations that I could in no way, deal with because really, there was no time to and there was just too much of it at once.
I move forward too quickly and my heart flutters too rapidly to be seen clearly or felt intimately for any long period of time and so the flames grow brighter, feeding on the energy I seem to create in my frenzied motion and as they do, they sometimes manage to hem me in, making me vulnerable to their heat.
I can't help it, I love them all so much yet not any one of them enough(o.k. well maybe one, you know who you are...stalker). It is just that I find myself overwhelmed with the belief that I am meant to be just this...an independent woman that is free to experience whatever affection she may come across and affect their lives and my own in the process...for better or for worse but I would like to think better for the most part because I am meant to be the woman that runs. the rapid accumulation of experience is what I need because whether it is in my life or in my dreams I am always running, the faces blurring past, my feet light as air and my mind higher than the sky...only once in a while my feet pausing in midstride, bringing the faces into focus and making my heart beat in time with another...sometimes it lasts days, sometimes it lasts months, sometimes it lasts years...but it never lasts forever because when I have learned what I can, my body and mind get the itch to move forward, to gain more understanding and the weight of another seems to hold me back, still my motion, slow my mind, stop my heart and when that happens, my creativity atrophies.
So, this may be my truth. o.k. I suppose but sometimes the damned dreams threaten to break my sanity, leaving me feeling empty and confused. I miss them all, I love them all...even when they don't love me anymore because they are still a part of me and I know that the reason it ended was because I had to let it go, I had to run and move forward in space in time, to be what I am and fulfill my need for independence. I usually know what I am letting go of and though it hurts everytime, I know that doing it was right because I am a bad girlfriend(not a bad lover, only a bad girlfriend) and that am not meant to be pinned down and held captive, forced to be content with the same face day after day. I do not like being an object that can be held, can be owned. I like being an object that can be desired, an object that is in motion while creating energy in its wake...whether that energy haunts me later or not.
so it goes, I am a fickle bitch.
or maybe I just have not found somebody that can keep up with my rapidly changing mind, my high energy life...or maybe I have and he just keeps eluding me...running from me.

knowledge is power.
Current mood: thirsty

First of all, let it be known that this is not so much a political rant as a spiritual rant about politics and the life we as americans or better yet humans, are all in together.
I don't know about the rest of you, but I have never been so excited about a presidential race...ever. yeah yeah yeah, the last time, when Bush fought for his second term, I was on the edge of my seat, my heart in my throat, my fear taking over because I already felt that I knew the outcome. I knew that his charisma would win out once more despite the obvious fact that he was an imbecile. Kerry just was not powerful enough. Not charismatic enough because I hate to say it but that is what it has boiled down to over the years, a popularity contest. We could be sad about this or we could do what I have already done, see a glimmer of hope or better yet a bit of amusement at the thought that the stupidity of the masses may just tip the scales...in the right direction, or at least the direction that may make this country salvageable for now. Of course everybody has their opinion on the matter and mine does not matter much in the big scheme of things and really, nobody elses does either and that is why i am not giong to go into the details of the election or my particular views on the matter. I just wanted to take a moment and appreciate the beauty of a growing consciousness (within this country at least) that has slowly been making an effort to defy violence and vote for beauty, whether that be literally or figuratively.
I have lived so much of my life in fear. In fear of the future, in fear of fate. Having children at first only intensified my fears, made them even more real, more imminent. I have, over the course of my career as a mother, learned to let go of those fears and embrace the strength within. I guess that is why I take interest in these things...politics and such. Not that I believe in them or really care all that much about them, I know that there are a lot of untruths littering our perspective of our government. I only like to keep up, arm myself with what knowledge I can to keep my fears at bay and teach my daughters that knowledge is power and you have to know exactly what is going on so that you can attempt to make your decisions wisely. so yes, i take an extreme interest in this election, knowing that history is being made and that we are on the verge of destruction, another empire possibly about to expire. I am intrigued by this race, this competition to see who will come out on the proverbial top and inherit this giant pile of decaying shit...and that my friends, is how I keep the fear tamped down...I take it all for what it is and keep my eyes wide open because life is what it is and that is all that is. we are all going to die, in fact we are all dying right now so let's have a good time, find amusement where we can and love and nurture our children to give them the strength to reach adulthood and be able to experience every range of emotion and physical sensation because I guess that is what it is all about. Living. So, here we go.

But hey, that is not to say that I have not studied the logistics of sustainable living, gardening and pretty much surviving if our current political climate grows hotter, even less stable and our food/oil/energy sources grow more scarce because as I said before, knowledge is power. and the real, inevitable truth is right there on the horizon.

catholic remnants
Current mood: amused
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

Last night my head hurt and my throat hurt and my dreams were fucked.
It seems that the moment my head hit the pillow, the dreams began...starting off with me driving a trailer(actually driving the trailer, no car attached) that used to be a slaughterhouse on wheels, it was painted with red and black laquer on the outside and had just a bed and yellow walls on the inside. I had to sit on the edge of the head of the bed and keep my feet crossed at the ankles to work the pedals, the outside of my right foot worked the brake, the outside of my left foot, the gas, and the steering was a bitch seeing as how I was facing the axle side and the stupid thing kept turning...I was trying to move the trailer away from the busy street that it was on so that I could sleep in it. It had no locks and i was scared of sleeping in it with all of those people walking by. I ended up driving up a mountain and parking it at the edge of a cliff ...I lay down and there was a knocking at the door. an exboyfriend(no names here) had come to visit me, to lay down with me. I was happy. I turned, wrapping my arms around him to cuddle him and kiss his neck but he shoved my arms away and told me that he did not want me(this was the story of our real life relationship as well). I turned away feeling terrible and found that I could not sleep so I got out of the bed. I stepped out of the trailer and spotted a red truck with a red camper coming toward me in the distance. there was an old toothless man driving it, his hair matted and grey. I thought that he was making his way toward me to run me over but he instead yanked his steering wheel to the right veering off over the edge of the cliff. I got scared and ran to the edge to see how far he had to drop only to find that he was not dropping. he was driving...well actually skidding, down the cliffs face, rocks spraying up behind him. Curiosity got the best of me and I turned, looking for a way down the mountain and spotted a stairwell at the far edge of the cliff. it wrapped around and around the sides of the mountain. I ran, hoping not to miss anything. finally, the stairs ended in a clearing that was not quite the bottom of the mountain for the ground was still sloped and gravelly, dotted with low lying shrubs and boulders. I looked around and(for those of you who know me, this is gonna seem weird) spotted God. He was God like in the cartoons. in fact he was God like in the family guy, and he seemed to be waiting, checking his watch, tapping his foot. it was then that I heard it, the sound of crunching gravel and I looked up and saw him, the toothless man. he was sliding down into the clearing on his truck though all that was left was the axle and floor of the truck. no wheels or body. he was using a giant ten foot staff that looked like a crowbar and was made out of plastic to guide himself into the clearing. His face was lit up like christmas and turned toward God who waited with open arms. he slid right into God, toppling him over into the dirt and dust, scraping him underneath the floor of his truck and they just kept on going down the mountain and out of my sight. I just stood there confused as to what I should do. I suddenly realised that I had my sidewinder?(the little thing from the eighties that you sat on and it had handles that you turned from right to left to gain momentum. it was really just a seat and some wheels that you could turn) so I decided to get on it and make my way down the mountain. The going was easy for me as though either the rocks did not exist any longer or I was now floating, looking up at the sky and realising that the sky was blue and you could see the moon. this is what I was thinking when I woke up