First, I am literally not editing or proofreading this. And I haven’t put an image with it – I’m too tired and don’t feel like finding one. And I am typing whatever is in my brain and leaps to my fingers. I kind of sort of have a plan for what I want to say, but no promises. Apologies in advance for missing words, phrases, weird conjunctions, odd placements, and trailed off thoughts. Also, is it bugging you I’ve been posting every day? I mean, I’m just in a weird blogging flurry at the moment; don’t get used to it. Eventually something will happen and I’ll go back to weekend blogging or once every 4 days or so. I’m on Summer Time, which means I typically have to consult a calendar at least once a day to note the date and what day it is and so everything is completely wonky…some days I have way too much time on my hands, others hardly any. There are worse problems to have.
Like, insomnia. (Which is why I’m up writing at 5 AM as I type.) My insomnia is the kind that doesn’t have a problem going to sleep, it’s the kind that has a problem staying asleep. And usually I can eventually go back to sleep, except once I wake up once then I’ll wake up ten more times. I sleep in hour increments on these nights. And then other nights I’m totally fine – I go to sleep at say 10 PM and I wake up at 7 or 8 feeling completely fine and refreshed. So strange.
Normally the thing that wakes me up is a dream. The other night I had a really cool dream that woke me up. I can’t remember it now, but when I woke up, I lay there replaying the whole thing going: BRAIN! You pay attention to this! We are too lazy to get up and write this down, so remember! And then I went back to sleep, no wake up problems, for the next 4 hours and woke up refreshed and good. But the dream was gone. All I remember was that cosplayers were involved. And cosplayers are fun, in my opinion. Crap.
Tonight, I woke up from another dream. Not a bad one, but one that made me feel, I don’t know…heavy? Mentally heavy. It’s actually a recurring dream I just started having once in awhile, so me and my brain don’t have to write this one down. This was the 3rd in the series. Each time, there’s a new detail added right before I wake up. This time there were dogs playing at the end, but none of them belonged to me. Little dogs, all different colors. I remember telling a Schnauzer: “Oh, look at YOU! You got a haircut!” Who in the world knows what the symbolism there is.
Because I’ve always bought into the theory that recurring dreams are our brains addressing important things we maybe aren’t in our waking reality. So I’ve started some research into the things in my dream, but I think I’m digging too deep. Let me just share the dream – maybe someone out there can figure me and my weird brain out:
My car is done, kaput. I go to a dealership and I end up buy a blue pickup truck. Brand new. I get a mountain of paper work on it and the keys. I’m pretty happy with my new purchase, and I’m driving it all around when, suddenly, for no reason whatsoever, the reverse stops working. So I can drive it – it’s totally driveable – but lord help me if I park at say the supermarket and then need to back out of the space. Parking is the worst. I know I need to take it back to the dealership and either demand a new pickup truck or have it fixed – I mean, it’s under warranty and everything. But I don’t. I just take it to my apartment complex and I park it. And then I forget where I park it.
Meanwhile, C picks up me and M from somewhere and drives us back to his place on a crisp autumn day with the windows down. Along the way, branches from trees that fell in a storm keep coming in through the window – I’m in the backseat, M is in the front seat – and hitting me. The pine tree branches I like the best because their needles are soft.
When we get to C’s, it turns out to be sort of dark and ominous asylum-looking place. I reluctantly let him know I need a ride back to my own place because I bought a new truck but it doesn’t work. He’s kind of annoyed but agrees to take me. Then my brother shows up and starts laughing at me because, helloooo…just take it back to the dealership and make them give you a new one. Legally they have to. Except I’m not really sure where I parked it, and even if I find it then I can’t back it out of the spot because the reverse doesn’t work. I don’t even know if I can find the keys.
I find the keys. I locate the truck. I get in. And the reverse works. Weird.
And then tonight there were dogs.
The next time I have this dream, I’m sure there will be another piece. I feel like my brain is telling me a story, in installments. A great story that’s going to unlock a mystery I’ve been waiting to unravel for awhile…..or I just need to buy a pickup truck. It’s finally happened: the South has turned me. Next, I’ll be flying a Confederate flag from my porch. (I’m joking – the Confederate flag is an eyesore and a symbol for the insane. Brexit supporters could, quite seriously, consider adopting it. I bet Donald Trump wants to.)
On a completely unrelated note but referring back to what I wrote about in my last post:
Oh, ha. I guess video phone calls are a thing. Because Skype and Facetime. (I never Skype or Facetime, which are nouns I am using as verbs right now which is another philosophical issue I have with the Internet, which is why I didn’t remember that those are a thing now. Well, thank god those aren’t a thing I do with any of my people, or while on the phone with cable company customer service reps.)
And lovely Amanda Palmer shared a link **on Facebook that I shared on Twitter. It was about a man who loved a woman and how their love changed and evolved but never ended. It’s incredibly long (longer than these stinkin’ things I write), and I didn’t cry like lots of people claimed they did as they read it, but I did have lots of feels. I think I just liked that he was so willing to embrace heartbreak but still love. Love is huge and really important, and I know lots of people who do it so much better than I do. And I just liked what he had to say about it.
And then I started seeing other people’s opinions about it on Twitter. Making fun of what they say is his over-the-top hipster phrases. Rolling their eyes at him. Calling him a cheater because he openly and honestly told his partner where he was at emotionally with their relationship, and she openly and honestly accepted him for doing that.
What is wrong with you, Internet? Why are you so judge-y and sarcastic about everything? Especially about love? And deep emotion. I said this last time, and I’ll say it again: I really worry something is broken in us, you guys. And I think social media makes it worse – this need to be pithy and profound, in 140 characters or less. So somebody writes a blog entry that takes people more than 2 minutes to read, writes beautifully about someone he once loved with all his heart and will love forever but in a different way…and you guys have to come along and judge him for it. Tell him his Art and his Love are stupid. Why? Because you can do it in in shorter phrases? Why? Because your way of loving someone is so much more superior because it conforms to society’s standards? I see you on Twitter, trying to be unique and sophisticated. But you just called someone else whose life you know nothing about a cheater and said you wanted to kick him for writing long and eloquently about someone who really matters to him, who broke his heart. Oh, you’re so much better than him. You’ve totally got a way better way of doing things, of seeing the world. Because you’re not boring or predictable in any way at all, yourself. (Obviously, these kinds of people are not my tribe.)
Did that come off too judgmental and sanctimonious about the judgmental and sanctimonious? If you want to get to really know me, it’s this kind of stuff. Dream pick up trucks that don’t reverse and this kind of stuff. That’s what keeps me from going back to sleep. I’m just glad I still have the attention span to read and care about things that are longer than 700 words. (This is also why I prefer reading on paper and ink books than tablets or phones.)
**I lied – I did edit this. But just once, to put a link in to the piece I was being sanctimoniously judgmental towards the sanctimoniously judgmental about. Just so you can read it to if you want to. (You need about 20 minutes of quiet space. And maybe some refreshing water or lemonade, while you relax with it. Leave your traditional judgments at the door, though.)