But I'm not in the right headspace. Too many things going on in there lately. I need to cut back on the over-dwelling and digging up of old memories. They hurtses us something awful sometimes. But it's like...how can I explain so I don't sound too birken-stocky for your tastes?
But really now, you've read about how I must tell a story/dream to make it reality, if you didn't leave then...it's kinda the opposite for some of my memories. I share them with friends and family to get them out of the lurking subconscious so they won't haunt me at my most vulnerable...when I'm sick or tired or...of late, sleeping.
I've had some very poor nights recently where I'm dreaming a scene from my real life but the "players" are all the wrong people. Or maybe I should just say that the main player, the one whom I'm having a great conversation with, watching the stars with, programing the VCR with...that person becomes all wrong. That's when I find I'm slipping into nightmare mode and the cause is one big, bad X who I'd rather went to far far away and stayed there...I mean really now, just when I think I'm all done and over and oh-blah-de, oh-blah-da, life goes on, yeah! He comes back...urg.
It's like those bad b-movies I watched as a kid where the main character thinks the guy helping him/her out is this swell fellow and s/he thinks they're gonna be okay and so UNLIKE The Goonies where the big-bad is actually a sweetie, this big-bad turns out to be the deranged/serial killer/devil?
Yeah, those kind of dreams. But my X plays center stage and I don't realize that he's not my older or younger brother, or my uncle or Lev or Andy or even Richard until he starts ranting and going off on me and laughing that awful laugh that makes me realize I'm in hell and would rather like to wake up now, please...but can't because I suck at controlling my dreams.
Because of this I am distracted and would much rather inundate myself with diverse things as NPR podcasts or reading teen novels that frustrate me cuz it's kinda obvious the author has never driven a vehicle encumbered by snow chains and that whole poetic Justice/suspending my disbelief is rather limited and yet! I can't stop reading the damned thing.
I think it's because her vampire universe is so much more positive and happy than the Buffy-verse or the world of Anne Rice. Or rather, that's my theory. If I wasn't longing for shiny happy things...and yes, I will interrupt myself just here...I guess I do believe this book about danger and dying and bad things happening to good people is light and happy compared to what's swirling in my head just now...The mid-sentence revelations in my blog posts are such amazing things to me. But yeah, if it weren't for that I think I'd have had to ditch the book by now.
See, I know it's all about anxiety and if I just chilled a little more the eye tick would go away and I could sleep better and maybe my tummy would stop it's weird gurgling rumble-nauseous trend and life would slowly get better...but I just got back from L.A. and gah! Life and stress and not enough people at work and the end of the year and did I mention stress? It's a bit much right this second...
And it was 42 degrees on my drive to work this morning. As much as I could not stand the heat of "autumn" in Los Angeles... (more in my next post) I was really rather missing my sweat glands this morning.