pica_pica

Sidestep for a smidgen of returning honesty:


Well that was an interesting sleep last night.
(I seem to have taken on a habit from a guy at work that uses the word interesting as some religiously based epithet to replace the term fucking sucked or sucked ass.

Mind you, he also says oh my word! a lot. Thankfully I have not picked that up yet.)

Seems like I had so many dreams late in the process, yet only one dream for the first 6 hours of what should have been my sleep.

Sleeping in a basement suite with Leah, a claustrophobic chamber. Bed against the vertical wall, and the parallel wall was half of a low, head ducking A Frame.

Opening the bedroom door, it was a 2-D view inside a right angle triangle, and I actually kept waking to chest sucking, deep, lurching gasps. That room was so small, maybe 7 feet long by 4 feet wide, and at the pinnacle of the A-frame, 6 feet. Didnt like that room, but that was the dream in its entirety. Just being in there, going to bed, not being able to breathe.

That same dream was predominantly my night. It seriously repeated itself from around midnight through to sometime before 4:00 am.
(Well, my night was that, and Morgan consistently kicking me awake.)

Finally, one of the last anxious and sweaty glances at my still too fast alarm clock told me I had one hour before CBC radio kicked in, and an hour and 20 minutes before that fucking truck started backing up: that means that first glance was 3:45 am.

(I really AM going to throw this alarm clock out the window one day, and when I do I am going to take pictures.)

After that first fretful glance at the time, my A-frame dream was finally renovated. Morpheus went off into a myriad of other visions

Who is/was that redheaded girl? She ran up to me on commercial drive after that last glance at the alarm clock: she had freakishly ice blue eyes, freckles, too full lips and those eyes somehow so beautiful while too deeply set. She knew me somehow from before. 3 months did she say?

And before we could ascertain where that meeting took place, rush hour moved and the horse drawn carriage I was in took me away from her.

Morgan kicking.
MORGAN! he stops. 4:12.

Then my old best friends wife: Shelley was there, crying, pregnant.

Morgan kicking.
MORGAAAAN! he stops. 4:32.

Then I dont remember that one. She-who-used-to-be-referred-to-as-her was there. I dont think she was talking, but something was going on that was important. 4:45.

This went on. Unfortunately, after CBC radio started to blare, I cant remember the next few episodes, but each one was different and important. All I remember is karate chopping the snooze button in a fumbling swipe every 7 minutes; and Morgan kicking.

Finally, my bedroom is getting light inside from the rising sun, my sheets are wet. I pray to fall back into that one about she-who-used..
I start to drift off again, and its Morgan kicking.
This time, I unfortunately thrash the duvet off my lower body and kick back.
I feel bad as soon as my consciousness reaches the level required to realize that that wasnt fair.
I push him off the bed, and lay there for a few minutes knowing that the alarm is going to be relentless, feeling bad for pushing him off the bed, and feeling bad for missing out on some of the dreams I just had.

Just give me 7 more minutes, let me get that last message bring that one back to me.

I almost start to drift off, but it doesnt happen: trucks backing up.
..


I am probably falling into a world of make believe. I dont know what the opposite of escapism is, but I need to find out what that antonym is.

Maybe this started that one day at work when my boss was so unrealistically full of anger at the offices of that real estate company, maybe it started when I put Nemo down maybe this started when Mom died, (but I think this is more of a short term change). Whatever has been happening to to me only seems to be a few months old, so perhaps with a few weeks of conscious work into my return, I should be back on that other road?

I scrambled through the briars chasing a shiny bauble perhaps, a magpie, and I cant at this moment see the road I scrambled from.

I dreamt I lifted my shirt last night.
My stomach was swollen and dimpled with cellulite.
waaah I said, and pointed at it, pulling my shirt back down.

Ive lost something from within and I cant allow myself to say its been taken away because that would mean I allowed for that to happen. It could only be missing now if I had actually allowed for that to happen. It could only be missing if I had offered it up willingly, and I dont want to think I did that.

What was it that I lost?
Can I get it back?
I see it somewhat like a small shard of glowing crystal, slowly pulsating inside my chest cavity. Most specifically right in the center, under my breastbone and above my solar plexus.

I think it started to dim sometime around November, and without me knowing what to do, I put the fight to save it out into external sources. Or, at least, what I incorrectly assumed would be the external source.

That was 6 months ago now, and I am only now coming to realize that not only did I not bring that glowing Mauve light back into that crystal, but I somehow feel void of that very crystal that was there to hold that extraordinary light in the first place.

Sometimes, I think its life itself that is draining from me,
(as I wrote that, the beeswax candle to my left sputtered and extinguished.

But also, equally symbolic; I look over and see that one of the standing towers of wax that was surrounding the flame had toppled into the pyre and flooded the wick with a new pool of melted honeyscent.

I simply relit it.
Its burning strong again now.)


Sometimes I basically see it as the result of a loss of a feeling of self-worth, which could make sense. I want to say I am (and will always be) strong enough to not allow the loss of so many people close to me to take me down: Realizing that in order for me to allow my emotional base to be rocked by that would have to rely somewhat on me playing the victim.

But, for 12 years, (and in some cases, 20), those people were my family and yes I have made new friends and I am certainly not ignorant of that fact but I am also not ignorant of the fact that I do really appreciate the sentiment of the logging companies when it comes to sending the tree planters out into the blackened, scarred hills of a clear-cut patch of what was once oldgrowth rainforest with their satchels of seedlings.

Its obvious to me that those saplings are priceless, and that hillside will once again regain its majesty but its also obvious that its not what it ever would be.
Or something like that.

None-the-less, I suddenly wake to see now that I have been playing life.

These months have sped past me and when I write in the morning, and start my entry with todays date, April seems foreign to me. I dont know how I got here, but I am just starting to see where I am. Its not a good place, but one day it will only be where I was.

Some of the more abstract things I find myself writing about, I dont always catch at first.
Looking back now there are at least a couple of entries from here on this site that make a helluva lotta sense to me now:

That one from around Christmas, the time I felt as though I was a video image of a test pilot passing out through a 5 G loop

The second one was more recent, only a few weeks ago:

And then sometimes, things just are what they are, and I am simply along for the ride, watching the static serenity of the passing farm houses, and wondering if this strobe-like flashing of the tree shadows ever spins the driver off into an epileptic fit.

Didnt really know what I meant when I wrote those, but now I get it.

I think its due time I slid on over and took the wheel.