Dreamblog

I have a separate dream blog but the dream I just awoke from was so powerful and revealing I have to share here. Basically I was back in South Carolina at the beach with friends, old and new. Lifetime friends, a new man who was extremely hot and promising.. indeed the dream was sex filled and left me longing upon the several wakings I had during the night… I also woke up crying a couple of times. The South Carolina coast, Pawley’s Island, Litchfield Beach and Murrel’s Inlet in particular, are the most beautiful, peaceful and genteel places on earth. Right here in the old USA. I must admit I say that having never traveled outside the US other than to Canada and Mexico. At any rate, having grown up vacationing at  those ” elegantly shabby” beach towns I have a special place in my heart for them. Although development is continuously threatening to encroach, last time I checked (and it’s been a few years)  the beaches remained pretty under-developed and natural.  Clean sand, warm water in the summer, flat, rock free beaches. I mention rock free cause here in Washington the beaches are brutally unfriendly with their rocks, boulders and frigid waters. Pretty yes, but not meant for swimming or getting in to and having the sensual experience of being in the water, being with the water and the waves… at least not for this east coast native.

In my dream coastal towns of SC, the inlets have marsh grasses, crabs, fish, shrimp. Long docks out into the waterway where you can sit in the little gazebos at sunset and tie chicken necks to a long string, drop them in the water and come up with a crab dinner in about a half hour.  In the morning, take the shrimp nets and drag them through the more shallow waterways and have a fresh shrimp dinner after an afternoon of “heading” them in the shade of  a huge moss draped oak tree.  Take a jon boat to one of the small  inland waterway islets and sit in the silence with nothing but ocean birds and waves lapping at the pure white sand.  Get a hammock and a screened porch and have a cold beer at sunset.  It’s pretty much paradise as I recall.

But I digress. The dream was the usual combo platter of me looking for love, looking for a coffee cup and coffee, looking for a private place to shower (we were all staying in the large, luxurious but still a lovely kind of rustic beachfront house of my childhood friend Christina) and there I was  looking , looking, longing. At one point my friend Barb and I were in some public waterfront place , a marina perhaps, and looked out the window where a crowd had gathered to watch a spectacularly weird occurrence of a huge school of dolphins swimming in the canal out front while the Seattle Mariners and The Sounders where also doing some choreographed routine along the bank of the canal. The Mariners, the Sounders and Dolphins!!! All at once?? I had to have pictures, but had a hard time capturing the dolphins on camera, they were always just out of my lens view. Why a baseball team and soccer team from Seattle were in there,  I have no idea. I don’t even go to the games or consider myself a fan in any way .

Bottom line. The coast of SC is where I have always planned to retire. My life is currently at a crossroads. I woke up mumbling and crying “I have to go back. I have to go back.” As in, I have to leave Seattle and return to my home. I think I do.  This could be part of the alcohol free, new antidepressant, good night’s sleep cocktail I am enjoying, but I think not. I think my core psyche comes out when I’m not smacking it down nightly. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

Now I must start looking at how to realize the dream of heading to Pawley’s Island. The only thing I have in Seattle is a job (a hot commodity these days, I know), a few friends and a reputation. Stagnant. Inertia. Much work to do.

 

Giving up might be the best thing

If you give up and surrender then change can come into your life. I have to give up all of my beliefs, all of my concepts, and start over. Re-learn the world. Like a toddler, I will simply stumble around in a gleeful blissful state of not knowing anything. Because everything I have learned, everything I have believed in, everything I thought I knew has been wrong.  I believed I had a chance of  an increase in my hours at work. I believed that I might be making more money and be able to improve my living situation, I believed that things couldn’t get worse, I believed that I had a chance.  Well I’m not getting more hours at work, I’m not going to be making more money. In fact, I’ve even had an hour cut from my schedule. It’s just an hour, but still.  I believed that I could pull myself out of this hole of depression and madness. I believed that I was funny and attractive. I believed that I could carry off faking it a little longer.

It’s all off the table. I’m going to surrender. And I think surrendering to some form of god is the only thing left for me. I don’t know which form of god. But I have to give myself up to something bigger than myself. Let someone or something else take over for a while. Cleanse my mind, my soul, my body. Wipe the slate clean and start over. What am I talking about? I don’t know . I’m on the reference desk and slightly sedated with the help of some valium in order to make it through the day without a constant stream of tears running down my face. Crying is cleansing but it also wrecks your makeup and makes you look like a crazy person on the reference desk.  I bought some Lotto tickets.  I’m taking my dog to the rescue people next week. I’m going to have my paycheck garnished by several creditors. But in the end it’s only money. My daughter has relatives who can care for her if I cannot. We’ll just wait and see what happens.  I like valium.

 

WTF?????

Good Lord. Lost my mind for  a minute or a few years. Whatever. Reading back over this shit blog makes me feel like a smart misguided idiot.   I think I got it now. Thank you karma, thank you pain. Thank you joy. Thank you for letting me hate myself forever. Thank you for the nonstop challenge. Thank you for lettin’ me be mice elf again…..     thank you for life.

 

When a man becomes an obsession… or – There and Back Again

I am once again revisiting  the eternal struggle to wash my brain of  the boy.  To find the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. The ups and downs of  this relationship have been documented in this blog for a long time.  I am not clear on why I cannot get over him. It’s been 2.5 years of continuous and alternating pain and joy.  It’s like fucking Brokeback Mountain for heterosexuals.  We’ve gone from being sorta together (boy don’t do monogomy), to being totally cut off, to being fuckbuddies, to being homemade porn stars, and now back to crazytown.  He has a new fling. A freaking 26 year old. Not that hot, but obviously she’s got something he wants for now.  I am having fucking NIGHTMARES about it all. 

While the boy is charming and funny and smart, his life is a total trainwreck.  I should be glad to let someone else deal with his drama for a while.  Would I really want him if he was mine to have? Why am I so attached? So obsessed?  There is obviously a connection there that strikes a deep and primal chord in me. The only way I can explain it is that pain and drama are so heavily ingrained in my psychological makeup, that he is the perfect fit for that very self defeating, masochistic chink in my brain.  He fills a part of me that thrives on this stuff and it makes for a very powerful addiction.  Add to that:  I just love being around him. And the sex is perhaps the best I’ve ever had. The perfect trifecta for addiction. I feel like it is going to kill me. I cannot let that happen. What the hell?  I need electro shock therapy. I need to move to another country. I can’t believe I am back here again. I guess I never really left.  Writing about it is therapy for me. In which case, I should be doing a lot more writing……..

 

Mystery Solved: Massive Missing Librarian Found

Library officials on Monday located a Plus Size Librarian who had been missing for more than two hours after she was believed to be oversleeping or overdosing, or both, a top Library official said.

The Librian was located at her basement dwelling, in the bathroom, via cellphone, said Library Administrator Peavey Higenbotham. “The Librarian has been moved to our anti-social subversive employee holding area where she is sarcastically answering questions,” Higenbotham said.

The questioning aims to clarify all circumstances of how she disappeared and why she did not send any (emergency) signals or call her branch library to alert them of her whereabouts.

The Librarian, who often uses various aliases such as “Lefty” or “Cherry”, had not been heard from since Saturday.  When last seen she was carrying approximately 20 pounds of extra weight, several tons of excess baggage and a rather large, scabbous cold sore on her bottom lip and chin. 

She was scheduled to arrive in her branch library at 11:30 a.m. Monday morning. The news came from several bitchy employees who had immediately begun speculating that the Librarian was cavorting with a local Jamaican male, known for his propensity for late night showering. 

The U.S. military also had a report last week that the Librarian’s car  had been seen skirting the runway at McChord Air Force base south of Tacoma. She appeared disoriented and totally clueless that she was headed in the oppposite direction of Seattle where she was destined according to several sources. The U.S. military was not involved in the search.

The branch Manager, Helmut Schmidt, had previously spoken to the Librarian about her irratic behavior and ongoing acts of anarchy within the branch.  While he had considered placing her on suicide watch, he was waiting to see if her antidepressants would kick in at some point over the weekend.  

“The Librarian has now arrived at work, she is missing the majority of her hair and several bald spots are visible but she appears otherwise unharmed, unless you count the cold sore which persists and the strange rash that has appeared on her chest, just above her rather abundant cleavage. Disciplinary action could be forthcoming depending on the Librarian’s willingness to provide free blowjobs for management, once the cold sores and rashes clear up.

 

The Rules

1.  Act like you believe all that is around you and follow along.

2. Never cry in front of you enemies.

3. Don’t overthink your decisions

4. Make some decisions.

5. Keep tweezers handy at all times.

6. Give it a shot…. get up before noon.

7. Look in the mirror after you dress for work.

8. Look at all that is around you and realize you don’t have to pretend it is how it is. And you don’t have to follow along.

9. Stop poisoning yourself.  And stop poisoning your entire existence.

10. Listen to music, sing, play an instrument and don’t be afraid to sound stupid. But keep your audience small…. perhaps just yourself as audience. And a dog if you have one.

11. Eat food. Even if you think you will die from it.

12. Try to be as honest as you can, but only if you can take it as well as you can give it.

13. Cuddle some form of life daily.

14. Write trite shit on your blog if it makes you feel better. Because only you read this blog and it will remind you of what you feel someday.

15. Wish everyone would quit co-opting the song “Mad World” because it was your personal favorite secret song that has now gone viral.

16. Log off. But not forever. Because you still have options. Tomorrow you can question your integrity.

17. Don’t forget about Cuttlefish. They can tell you a lot about survival.

 

Monday Muddle-Through

First trash news I read or heard about today was Ryan O’Neill “flirting” with his own daughter at Farrah’s funeral. He didn’t recognize his own daughter. She had to tell him it was her, Tatum…. And I thought my childhood was fucked up. Or my adulthood more likely. Or one gave way to the other…. blah blah blah….

On other fronts, I have many, many thoughts but probably not the chops to report on them. If you want deep, thoughtful and consistent blogging: GO ELSEWHERE.

But I do have a few things.  One is this idea of getting  A PHYSICAL. Of which I am supposed to be starting the process in the a.m.    I figure I can have all these stupid tests and they will tell me what I already know. I am dying. How many years do I have left? Probably too many. My life expectancy far exceeds my financial ability to maintain, I fear. . But that’s an old crybaby tune I’ve been wailin for too long.  “I’m a baby  with a diaper and no one to change me”  (diaper speak wanna be poet pun) was my college anthem. Either you get it or you don’t.

What? I’m not lugubrious enough  tonight? Funny. I made a conscious decision the other morning to stop being so sad about everything. Funny how that works. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. But the crazier you become, the easier it is to say YES!!!!

Random: Watching Anthony Bourdain touring an underground bat habitat in Jamaica. Sliding down to a hot core of earth covered in “cockroach and bat feces” and whining about how awful it is. But no one is wearing gloves or any other protective clothing. You listen Bourdain! If you’re going underground into a sludge pile of feces, you wear gloves … at the least!

Stories. It’s all stories. And the telling…..

 

The Bell Rang

Outside on my porch tonight, all bereft as usual, I heard a church bell ring at 11 p.m. I wondered why a bell would ring at that time of night. But then instead of feeling all hateful toward the beautiful bell…. it was hard to feel that way, but the fact of it perplexed me…..  I was so glad to hear that bell. People were out in the world doing SOMETHING….. ambulating and doing something, whereas I do so little lately. I would like to thank  those bell ringers for reminding me that there is life out there. I suspect that is part of the message. But then, I know little of those types.

 

rtzggix

I found this post title in my draft posts the other morning. I think my intention that late night back on July 3, was to write about my ratty who I had discovered dead at 3 a.m. when I got up to get a glass of juice.  Wonder what I thought I could write in my sleep walking state? Oh well… that shall remain a mystery. At any rate, as those 2 of you who read my drivel know, I have had two black hooded female rats for a couple of years. Delilah came first and then we decided she needed company and bought Baby. They have been delightful creatures but I have found them to be fairly high maintenance and somewhat demanding. They’re smart, so they need attention.  I am guessing since Baby died, Delilah will probably go soon since they were each other’s world. These will be the last rodents we will own. Ever. We have had white mice, hamsters, pygmy hamsters and now rats. They don’t live long and the cemetary plot is getting full.

Scout’s ashes came back in a sweet little wooden box. We put it by a photo of him and my daughter and put his purple collar over the picture frame. The loss of  Scout still looms on my psyche’s horizon. I never fully grieved his death. And now we have Willy. Crazy Willy. He’s like a giant Scout with brain damage. It all makes for some very weird feelings.  Developing affection for a new dog is not difficult for me, being an avid animal lover, but still I feel like I’m betraying Scout in some way.  It’s as if I took my emotions and stuffed them in a bag and then just tacked them onto Willy. Weird and disorienting on some level.

On other fronts, the train keeps barrelling down the crazytracks. I’ve decided to just start chasing butterflies and give up on worrying about anything.  Besides, I hear conflicting stories about the world ending or being beset by solar flaring in 2012 according to the Mayan calendar, so if I can just keep the bill collectors at bay for a few more years I should be set.

 

I Am Not Talking About Michael Jackson !!!!

I will not talk about seeing the Jackson Five when I was 12 and one dad drove 6 of us to the one venue in Columbia SC that could handle such a crowd….. and how we screamed and laughed and cried and loved those black boys and how back in 1970 it wasn’t yet cool to love black boys (except on the vinyl) … and I took a classical piece I had learned for piano recital and added words to it and would play it over and over… “Tito, Michael, Jermaine, Jackie, Marlon ….. ” and then i forget the names= were there only really 5? seemed like more) “The Jackson Five is my favorite band forever” la, la, la………. all set to a white girl’s classical etude….

Thanks for the memories.