A New Roundness

My entire life I have been thin and when I am sad I starve rather than binge. I understand that when I have a healthy appetite it translates as inner joy and peace, but lately my desire to eat has hit an all time high. (Just in case you are wondering, I have not been getting high.) I am by no means fat or chubby, but sometimes I look down and think my stomach is cute when it is swollen with food and I rub it like I am jolly old Santa Claus smiling and chuckling to myself. Lately, I've been doing this frequently. In fact, I believe this strange behavior was the catalyst for my nervous dream last night.

I dreamt that my cute belly was expanding alongside my hips and waist and contrary to expectations I remained firm rather than jiggly. I realized within minutes that I was pregnant and upon this realization it seemed that all my bodily functions stopped and the sound of water rushing down a drain convened. Uh-oh. I have to tell my lover and he does not want children EVER.

I find him, look into his eyes and tell the truth: "I'm pregnant." He does not flinch. He is calm.

"I'm not having an abortion. I am too old. I want children."

He says, "OK, what shall we do?"

I look into the space beyond him and I feel the baby's body wriggling inside me. It twists like it is caught in the wrinkled blanket of my body.

I gasp, "Oh, no!"

He blinks.

I scream, "I wish it were food! I am not ready for a baby!"

Could it Have Been the Burrito I Ate Last Night?

For the past few days I have gone into hiding. After several weeks of back to back socializing I thought it necessary to recoil and repair. Home cooking, DVDs, hot baths, my yoga mat and my Book club book are the only witnesses of what I have been up to lately. Last night I filled myself up with a burrito with all the toppings, fresh currants, a nectarine, a kiwi and a decadent dark chocolate truffle brownie. I hit my luscious bed early and fell asleep.

In my dream I lumbered into a crowded art gallery and tried desperately to find a bench to rest my weary legs. Each bench was occupied by piles of painted canvases. Upon further inspection I realized that they were my father's art. As patrons filed through the tiny room I overheard bitter comments about the artwork and immediately became defensive. I shouted, "Of course they look odd because they are not being correctly displayed! In order to fully appreciate art it must be hung and well lit. In this dark and dreary corner how can ANYONE see their true beauty and worth?"

They all just looked at me in shock and so I ran from the gallery hot and teary-eyed. As soon as I exited the building the bright sun blinded me and yet I continued to run. When my eyesight returned I saw the cerulean blue sky filled with cumulonimbus clouds and tiny chirping birds scattered near my feet, so I bent down and cooed to the minuscule creatures discovering that they were merely chicken heads and necks and nothing more. I gagged and picked them up wishing they were beautiful flowers and ran into the town square screaming wildly. People stopped and stared. Then shouts of concern roared behind me. The voices were familiar and as my ears keyed into them I realized they were people I love communicating evocative concern, so I stopped and then it struck it me. My stomach pulled tight and my hands squeezed into fists. My internal flood gates opened and everything shot from my mouth like a fire hydrant. When I looked down the mutant birds were gone and a strong sense of remorse intensely tugged at my stomach again and again. As the murky sludge dramatically spewed forth I felt tender hands on my shoulders and familiar whispers that everything was going to be just fine... just fine.

I woke up this morning feeling emptied, slightly purified, most definitely strange, and wondering if it could have been the burrito I ate last night.

From Dark to Light

row after row discovering my wardrobe all over again
cutting out tags and rebellious strings
I touch the fabric that makes me beautiful
and run my fingers through my straight hair
not sure who I am anymore
because I don't look the same

my heart beat speeds up
and I sense a rush of heat through my face
feeling red and prickly

I search for a mirror desiring recognition
even as I slowly lose my abilty to see clearly
the fuzziness eats up the colors and spreads them out
the lines are no longer there to guide me
with trepidation I tiptoe forward into a soupy darkness

wading through the darkness I see light again
and appreciate it more than ever before
my tongue is alive
I am ready to speak

Stinky Kiss

The title of this blog does not sound too appealing now does it?

Last night I dreamt that a remotely attractive man kissed me. When our lips met I got a quick whiff of a tired mouth that should have completely retired before meeting mine. His scruffy face scoured my face raw as his sour tongue jutted into my mouth. I tried to fake enjoyment and lust, but it was no use. He held onto the back of my head as I tried to gasp for clean air. My desperate struggling like a bated fish for what seemed eternity finally set me free... free to wake up to my alarm.

Strange men in my dreams usually translate to my job. My work day today was a particularly annoying one in which I didn't feel too different than my dream last night as bitter words flung between another co-worker and me. Let's just call him a big baby, a big stinky baby! My only saving grace is he didn't try to literally shove his stinky tongue down my throat.

Piano Spy

Last night I dreamt that I was a spy. With my feminine charm I was able to enter a "secured" military building to find a quiet place to nap. Each room had thick concrete walls that silenced the outside world, though much to my chagrin I was unable to locate a room with a suitable place to sleep. I haunted as many rooms and hallways I could searching for a simple bed, cot or couch to rest my weary head. No luck.

Upon my search I found a giant room with a piano. I slowly walked over to it and lovingly caressed the keys remembering the times when I was child trying to make music as the dust slid onto my fingers and the ivory chilled my hands. I closed my eyes as the Pink Panther melody hummed through me.

When I finally opened my eyes I was awake and listening to the gentle hum of my alarm.

Spiderella

Mom and Dad
It's over
It has started
spinning out in threads
Spiderella
Hanging off a mattress
Cold and twisted
Hungry
Tired
spinning out in threads
Over
and over
It's over, again

Simpleton

You are exactly the same person that I thought you were
A simpleton when it comes to love
A hedonist and that is all
Selfish to the point of making the meaningful meaningless
All you are is a reoccuring disappointment
A faker
Until even faking it bores you
You tell the truth to free yourself of yourself
You lock me in tears
You smile because seeing the emotion you cannot feel
is the closest you'll ever get to being human

S.O.S.

I thought harkening in 2009 would lift the somber cloud of 2008, but it didn't. As I bow my head and feel the weight of my eyelids puffy with old tears I softly wonder why. Why after all these years is my heart still being battered into a pulpy mess?

I didn't write on the first because I was too busy rehearsing the end of an era and couldn't recollect my dreams anyway.

Last night my inconsiderate upstairs neighbor rattled his chains until day break. Needless to say, sleeping was difficult and interrupted. I dreamt of gay men having dinner with my horrible neighbor and discussing possible episodes with Vanna White and I also dreamt of running down aisles of apricots, stinky cheeses and yogurt. None of it made sense; even to the strange dream oracle inside me.

This year is starting off on the wrong foot and it is in a pile of dog excrement as tall as my knee caps. Please send help.