Somtimes, no matter how exhausted I am, I feel like the decision to sleep runs laps in my mind for so long that I end up slicing hours off the precious time I could have been sleeping. This silly obsessive thinking is making my eyes look like peeled grapes. My head feels like it is in a vice. Distraction is what keeps me mildly alert on days like today.
I wish I could impart some wildly interesting dream that I had to give a boost to this site, but sadly that will not be the case today. I'm feeling like protecting myself from harsh judgements now and exposing my dreams and nightmares seems contrary to my self-preservation.
Much love and strength to all.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Comment
The only people that comment on this blog are my mom, my sister, my boyfriend, my roommate and my good friend Gabrielle and you know why? You are the only people that read this freaking blog! You are the only people who give a crap that I want to be a writer. In a couple years I will hopefully be a teacher, but deep down inside I will still be nursing that writer in me that is desperate to be read and acknowledged and loved. I will continue to write because this how I calmly discover myself and the world around me. This is how I flesh out what needs to be seen. My dreams could just be mine, but sharing is so much more fun than being greedy. I look around at all the creative people in my life recognizing their incredible talent and drive. I see waves of good fortune and bad luck knocking them around in their struggle to express themselves in the ways they know best: writing, teaching, painting, singing, acting and dancing. I close my eyes tightly and fight back the tears that mean that I am moved by all this. Life, to me, is not just this 7 to 4 job. Life to me is creativity.
Friday, September 14, 2007
unaware
splayed out on the bed naked
back turned
what the hell are you doing?
there are people here!
they are coloring in boxes with orange crayons
and freaking out over photos of lemurs
and dropping hints that they are imperfect
parents are glaring and sharing their home with partiers
and you are still on the bed naked
the backpacks are open and spilling clothing on the floor
and I am turning around and the past is asking me to remember
travels and failed connections
friendly photographs are fading
perfume soaks the air
and you lay there
you just lay there
back turned
what the hell are you doing?
there are people here!
they are coloring in boxes with orange crayons
and freaking out over photos of lemurs
and dropping hints that they are imperfect
parents are glaring and sharing their home with partiers
and you are still on the bed naked
the backpacks are open and spilling clothing on the floor
and I am turning around and the past is asking me to remember
travels and failed connections
friendly photographs are fading
perfume soaks the air
and you lay there
you just lay there
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
I Love You, Tree-house Mansion
Last night I dreamt about the most extraordinary tree-house apartment complex.
I was searching for an alternative living situation when a friend of a friend suggested living in a tree-house. Initially, I scoffed at the idea recollecting the bogus houses parent's make for their children, ergo a piece of plywood wedged between a couple sturdy branches suitable for a couple 50 lb. kids and a deck of cards. Yep, that sounded like an excellent idea. Let me jot that down and call a few people. "Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad! How's about we go down to Home Depot and purchase some wood?"
The friend of the friend was not laughing. I quickly learned how uninformed I was. After forcing the car to defy gravity, we arrived at the top of a gigantic ancient tree with palm-sized waxy dark green leaves and thick twisting branches.
We walked into the first "apartment" for rent, which was sparsely decorated with utilitarian objects such as furniture, a refrigerator and a flatscreen TV. Let's face it, if you don't own a TV you are probably writing cunieform or killing mammoths or living in a tree-house...uh, scratch the last one. What set this dwelling apart was the lack of drywall. There was not a single sign of boring flat white walls, in fact the walls were gorgeous thick branches which were tamed so closely together that natural light could barely peep in. As we walked around I listened to the calming sound of wind russling the leaves thinking to myself "I could get used this".
As if reading my thoughts, my guide then turned to me and said, "You have not seen anything yet!"
We walked out to a cement driveway steaming with the midday heat, took a right and then pronounced our presence at yet another home in the tree. The "home" or shall I say "mansion" blew my plywood fancies into outerspace. It was as spacious as a NFL football field and as curvy as a centerfold. This was my porn. This was my dreams coming true in my, take a deep breath, dream!
The rooms were round, comfy and smooth. All the furniture was made with recycled organic materials brought to new life: sparkling and edgy. There was this constant feeling of being sprinkled with fairy dust. The shadows of leaves painted the walls. I stretched my arms out and smiled taking in a deep breath of lavendar- scented air.
The light of day eventually shifted and the hush of night flew over me as I languished on the round couch, the epicenter, of the most perfect home ever. As my eyes fluttered shut my alarm went off and I awoke to a new day thanking all the trees along the way for reminding me of how truely beautiful nature is.
I was searching for an alternative living situation when a friend of a friend suggested living in a tree-house. Initially, I scoffed at the idea recollecting the bogus houses parent's make for their children, ergo a piece of plywood wedged between a couple sturdy branches suitable for a couple 50 lb. kids and a deck of cards. Yep, that sounded like an excellent idea. Let me jot that down and call a few people. "Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad! How's about we go down to Home Depot and purchase some wood?"
The friend of the friend was not laughing. I quickly learned how uninformed I was. After forcing the car to defy gravity, we arrived at the top of a gigantic ancient tree with palm-sized waxy dark green leaves and thick twisting branches.
We walked into the first "apartment" for rent, which was sparsely decorated with utilitarian objects such as furniture, a refrigerator and a flatscreen TV. Let's face it, if you don't own a TV you are probably writing cunieform or killing mammoths or living in a tree-house...uh, scratch the last one. What set this dwelling apart was the lack of drywall. There was not a single sign of boring flat white walls, in fact the walls were gorgeous thick branches which were tamed so closely together that natural light could barely peep in. As we walked around I listened to the calming sound of wind russling the leaves thinking to myself "I could get used this".
As if reading my thoughts, my guide then turned to me and said, "You have not seen anything yet!"
We walked out to a cement driveway steaming with the midday heat, took a right and then pronounced our presence at yet another home in the tree. The "home" or shall I say "mansion" blew my plywood fancies into outerspace. It was as spacious as a NFL football field and as curvy as a centerfold. This was my porn. This was my dreams coming true in my, take a deep breath, dream!
The rooms were round, comfy and smooth. All the furniture was made with recycled organic materials brought to new life: sparkling and edgy. There was this constant feeling of being sprinkled with fairy dust. The shadows of leaves painted the walls. I stretched my arms out and smiled taking in a deep breath of lavendar- scented air.
The light of day eventually shifted and the hush of night flew over me as I languished on the round couch, the epicenter, of the most perfect home ever. As my eyes fluttered shut my alarm went off and I awoke to a new day thanking all the trees along the way for reminding me of how truely beautiful nature is.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Foreign Ritual
Sleeping well is a foreign ritual to me as all this change has busied my mind. I am exulted. I am crushed. I am elated. I am crying... not for joy. Change is often difficult and passionate. This period in my life is not relaxed, not stable and has reminded me once again how terribly far out of my reach the great things are. I'm starting all over again and I feel heart-breakingly alone in my plight for success and unconditional love. Am I asking for too much? 29 - This number keeps drilling holes in my head. Light tries desperately to flicker out and beyond the tip of my nose and into other lives and spaces.
The breeze of my fan unlocked something deep inside me as I tried to sleep last night...
I soared above the ocean with the flesh of my arms flapping in the wind. My body galloped through the clouds and my eyes burned with dryness. I looked down at the shimmering waves and land-lovers treetops and straight ahead and into the blue. The air was fierce and salty. It wore down and shined my skin with invisible polish. Instead of thinking or believing, my existence was propelled without reason as my fingertips exploded with a refined sensation. This sensation broke my body down into simple molecules that co-mingled with the sky as I rose higher and higher and then the darkness of outer-space drew noise and reference out of my head. In bouyant darkness I found silence.
The breeze of my fan unlocked something deep inside me as I tried to sleep last night...
I soared above the ocean with the flesh of my arms flapping in the wind. My body galloped through the clouds and my eyes burned with dryness. I looked down at the shimmering waves and land-lovers treetops and straight ahead and into the blue. The air was fierce and salty. It wore down and shined my skin with invisible polish. Instead of thinking or believing, my existence was propelled without reason as my fingertips exploded with a refined sensation. This sensation broke my body down into simple molecules that co-mingled with the sky as I rose higher and higher and then the darkness of outer-space drew noise and reference out of my head. In bouyant darkness I found silence.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Landing on My Feet
Cats! Felines! A stretching tigress! Last night my dreams were filled with these. Cats in dreams have NEVER been a good omen for me. It usually means that my loved ones are deceiving me.
I awoke this morning with a crooked neck and a crooked look on my forehead. You see, I had a less than merry evening with my belly and spent what should have been my sleeping hours getting up and down for the bathroom. Ugh. On the bright side, I have been going to the gym every other day, so my legs handled the slight exercise without even cramping.
I am grumpy today and wasting my time dwelling on all the stupid things people have said or done lately to offend me. This is what a poor night's rest does to me. I cling feverishly to the vines of negativity. White-knuckled and holding onto a stone wall I look down and gaze at my fears. It is time to let go. I need to hear the hush and feel the rush of cold cold air upon my ears.
I awoke this morning with a crooked neck and a crooked look on my forehead. You see, I had a less than merry evening with my belly and spent what should have been my sleeping hours getting up and down for the bathroom. Ugh. On the bright side, I have been going to the gym every other day, so my legs handled the slight exercise without even cramping.
I am grumpy today and wasting my time dwelling on all the stupid things people have said or done lately to offend me. This is what a poor night's rest does to me. I cling feverishly to the vines of negativity. White-knuckled and holding onto a stone wall I look down and gaze at my fears. It is time to let go. I need to hear the hush and feel the rush of cold cold air upon my ears.
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