I know I always start my blogs as if what I'm about to say is a new realization or sudden understanding or a secret that I'm letting you in on.
But hey, it's a blog. Isn't everything on a blog going to be an admission of some sort.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Crazy Hair Thursday
I have a long list of bad habits that I'm constantly aware of that I have. Sometimes I'm attacked by a crippling self-hatred. I figure it's just part of life sometimes.
If I could magically turn into someone else, I feel bad to say it, but,
I would in a heartbeat.
If I could magically turn into someone else, I feel bad to say it, but,
I would in a heartbeat.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Happy Birthday Barack Obama!
I got this present for you, but decided you probably didn't want it and I'll do you the favor of holding onto it for you.
Penelope
This might sound a little silly but there are quite sincerely few things I love more than my dog.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Stuck
This will come as no surprise but, I feel as if I live and am sometimes stuck in a crazy dream world.
Every night, often times 2 or 3 times a night, I have long, intense, vivid dreams. Almost all details are clear and nothing makes sense.
I usually wake up feeling drained, tired, anxious, or even afraid. Sorry for what's gone on or angry.
My dreams too often translate to real life. Where I'm walking as if in some sort of haze and the only thing I can think about are the impossible happenings of my sleep.
I have dark circles under my eyes and all of my rest isn't restful.
Last night I had a dream that all my older siblings were tiny little kids (the way I see them in really old pictures) being beaten by my father (keeping in mind that my dad has never even been close to abusive in any way) and I was the only adult, begging and crying to try and save them and stop him from beating them. I had another dream that I was trying to sew this scary scarecrow while a teacher yelled in the background and somehow, the fate of my family depending on the completion of it.
The other day I had a dream that I was stabbing a man to death with a reed like big piece of grass after accidentally killing a man with icicles.
I either need to stop watching crime shows, stop reading the news, stop taking my hive meds, or just take a chill pill.
Every night, often times 2 or 3 times a night, I have long, intense, vivid dreams. Almost all details are clear and nothing makes sense.
I usually wake up feeling drained, tired, anxious, or even afraid. Sorry for what's gone on or angry.
My dreams too often translate to real life. Where I'm walking as if in some sort of haze and the only thing I can think about are the impossible happenings of my sleep.
I have dark circles under my eyes and all of my rest isn't restful.
Last night I had a dream that all my older siblings were tiny little kids (the way I see them in really old pictures) being beaten by my father (keeping in mind that my dad has never even been close to abusive in any way) and I was the only adult, begging and crying to try and save them and stop him from beating them. I had another dream that I was trying to sew this scary scarecrow while a teacher yelled in the background and somehow, the fate of my family depending on the completion of it.
The other day I had a dream that I was stabbing a man to death with a reed like big piece of grass after accidentally killing a man with icicles.
I either need to stop watching crime shows, stop reading the news, stop taking my hive meds, or just take a chill pill.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Living in a Dream World
Since I am a person of constant vivid dreams I'm always searching for some sort of meaning or understanding of them in my waking life. Often, if the emotions are strong enough I won't be able to shake them for days.
My dream less strong emotion and more really strong images. So I figured I'd show everyone what google-ed dream dictionaries show my dreams to mean.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Islands of Despair
Isolated, in silence, each island lets the waves lap along it's shore. Small waves of wetness. Of sorrow. Of hushed sobs and sighs.
There is nothing original or appropriate or helpful to say in the face of grief. In the midst of grieving.
How does the sun turn in this small sea when so many storms have come to force?
In the world that I'm used to, the land where I was raised, noise could block out the feelings we were and were not feeling. As a child we were never expected to understand black clothes and funeral parlors. Children are the only reprieve from death.
I thought that we were done with this. Done with tragedy. Done with crisis. Done with long nights and long nights and longer days. It is summer, isn't it?
Has it been a year? Has it been two? It hasn't stopped pouring. Was I wrong to hope for even just a handful of months or a year to just rest? Rest our hearts. Rest our souls. It's been nothing but hospital beds and hospital beds and black mourning clothes and flower arrangements and cemetery grass and all these awkward, swollen, silences where I can't think of even just one word to say.
Even just one word as a boat, a raft, a signal fire in the darkness. Just one word to bridge the great expanse across this table, these chairs, this room full of so much grief, this indefinite space betweens these islands of despair.
There is nothing original or appropriate or helpful to say in the face of grief. In the midst of grieving.
How does the sun turn in this small sea when so many storms have come to force?
In the world that I'm used to, the land where I was raised, noise could block out the feelings we were and were not feeling. As a child we were never expected to understand black clothes and funeral parlors. Children are the only reprieve from death.
I thought that we were done with this. Done with tragedy. Done with crisis. Done with long nights and long nights and longer days. It is summer, isn't it?
Has it been a year? Has it been two? It hasn't stopped pouring. Was I wrong to hope for even just a handful of months or a year to just rest? Rest our hearts. Rest our souls. It's been nothing but hospital beds and hospital beds and black mourning clothes and flower arrangements and cemetery grass and all these awkward, swollen, silences where I can't think of even just one word to say.
Even just one word as a boat, a raft, a signal fire in the darkness. Just one word to bridge the great expanse across this table, these chairs, this room full of so much grief, this indefinite space betweens these islands of despair.
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