April 7, 2018

cobwebs

The sixth time I woke up this morning, I knew there wasn't going to be any real writing today.  My brain is full of cobwebs.  Last night was terrible, one of the truly bad ones, and sleep can usually act as a "reset button" on my brain and stop the spinning thought funnel, lift the reality-blindness, give me at least a fighting chance at doing it differently the next day.

I awoke at five and immediately regretted it, then spent the next four hours refusing to not still be in bed asleep.  The fucking reset button had failed me and I chased after it, cheated.  I dreamed.  I dreamed that my obsession-object was touring a campus today with a college-bound daughter, and I was not her.  That dream contained a glimpse of this incredible garden-stone area, little fountains and Greek statues, places to sit and complete peace, all somehow naturally formed and not landscaped.  I wanted to go there, badly.  I still do.  I dreamed that I was back at my old church and sneaking in on a Saturday morning with my coffee mug and pajamas and increasingly worn Lord of the Rings paperback, to sit in the big preacher's arm chair up front, corresponding with where I sit on my living room sofa during such a weekend morning ritual.  I kept getting caught by members of a band who were practicing in an adjacent hallway and were also serving breakfast.  I was warily handed a plate of bacon and pancakes; then the person hurried out because even though they had been there all morning, I arrived and I belonged more than they did.  I exuded it.  I went back home to get my phone to check for e-mails containing healing words, but there were none, and on my way back to the sanctuary and my cup of coffee, massive webs blocked my way and I couldn't get through them or around them.  I was denied.  I dreamed I was staying in Iowa with friends and someone I've seen photos of but never met was also staying there, and he was a drag queen, but I knew it was a fucked-up dream because no drag queen ever employed a muumuu and Dorothy sparkling red flats and I couldn't find my milkshake because everyone's cup looked the same.  I kept checking my phone in the dream for a text from my obsession-object.  I wrote e-mails in my mind, processing, while looking out over the ocean from my host's apartment balcony.  In Iowa.

When I finally threw back the blankets, pissed off, at 9:15, I knew I was doomed for the day.  My head was already spinning with what I should say and anger and forty reasons why the anger is not deserved and little poison arrows aimed at me by my own self, pricking my skin.  I hadn't even brushed my fucking teeth yet.  Coffee was a bitter subject.  I began picking apart and sweeping aside the cobwebs of dreams and thought, trying to discern what was real, what mattered and what could be released.  No spiders.  Just cobwebs.

It's 9:55 and today is going to be one of the hard ones.  My son wants to go clothes shopping and watch a movie with me tonight.  His presence will be what keeps me from self-injuring; he'll pull me out of my own head a bit.  But this morning, my protein granola tastes like ash and my bloodstream is full of poison and my worldview would wither a slug if I stared at it.  The arrows are relentless.  I need laughter.  There is none.

There will be no real writing today.  This isn't even a blog post.

Update:  Except that laughter comes when you're out shopping with your kid and he points to a purple t-shirt and wants it and you tell him that he's fucking queer, because he is and that's how the two of you joke around, and at that moment he, being a teenager and thus hypersensitive to others' opinions, turns around and out of the corner of his eye sees a rack of shirts right behind him with a sign about head-height and thinks it's a person and that person heard all of that and the kid nearly jumps out of his skin.

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