neversremedy8: (Doh)
I learned an important lesson from my dream this morning:
When placing an ad to find a girlfriend, make certain to put it in the personals section and not "seeking a roommate" or there will be a lot of miscommunication when you first meet.


After a while, I kept thinking, "Man, she's moving fast. We've only been talking ten minutes, and she's already asking about chores and sleeping arrangements!" I'm pretty certain my brain conjured the image of a certain artist from the last Norwescon I crushed on just to torment me.
neversremedy8: (Not Enough)
She'd been sick for nearly two weeks, and I did all I could for her short of going to the vet (which I couldn't afford). Mimsy was quite the fighter, but last night I found her and thought she'd already died, so slowly did she react. Her body was cold and her belly distended, but she tried to lift herself up. I held her for half an hour, gently stroking her fur. With every breath, I could see it was a struggle and she convulsed every few seconds. I watched as she had to work to blink when my fingers stroked her head. I was careful of the red eyes looking at me trapped and helpless inside a dying body.

I knew I needed sleep, so I used my free hand and dug up a clean, warm sock and a clean washcloth and wrapped her in layers of thick cloth to help keep her warm. I pressed drops of water to her lips because I knew how thirsty she got. She wheezed at one point, an intake of breath that had, for a moment, a faint mousy squeak deep inside her throat. The last squeak she'd make. I set her up on a stack of books next to the bed, and pressed my fingertip to her tiny paw--it curled to meet me. I looked her in the eyes that watched me constantly and said, "Goodbye Mimsy." Then she stopped breathing, her tail no longer twitched, it was over.

I covered her completely with the cloth, and left her next to me by the bed. In my exhaustion, I still attempted to reach my spirit guides to help lead the mousy spirit on her way, but I fell into a fitful sleep. I dreamt of Holocaust children whose spirits haunted the school I'd started. I woke again and again, worried that I'd knocked her body aside in my sleep. When morning came, and with it, Gwyn, I wrapped Ana up in my arms and let the furry feline nuzzle her face. I told her quietly that Mimsy died in the night, that I'd held her and comforted her until she was gone. Ana curled up and moaned a little. She never cries when death arrives--it worries me--but she lay quiet for a while and pet the cat demanding her attention.

We'll bury the body this evening; at the moment it rests, now stiff from rigor mortis, in the pine bedding in which it lived. I've never been so close to anyone in the midst of her death throes, and these were as unpleasant as one could have--she was quite obviously in serious pain, and I contemplated a quick Kevorkian maneuver, but found I didn't have it in me. I could only play helpless nursemaid and stroke her fur and keep her warm.

At the end, it was a subtle realization that one moment there was life within the eyes that stared at me, and the next, just a warm corpse that did not move of its own accord. This is the most I've processed so far, but I felt some new awareness stir within the dark, thick depths of me that before this experience I didn't have. What that is ... I'm not sure.
neversremedy8: (Live the Dream)
I commented in this entry at [livejournal.com profile] metaquotes about the uses of duct tape and keeping babies' hats on their heads. [Please read entry first.] I just had to comment, being an experienced duct taping parent:
Duct tape comes in quite handy when rearing children. First, it's to keep things on them (i.e. hats, shoes, socks, diapers) or them on other things (i.e. high chair, car seat), then you use it to bind their hands to keep them off of things (i.e. any crystal figurines, star wars action figures in pristine condition, or anything that's breakable or easily destroyed by drool, depending on your fandom base). Finally, you end up just using it all over them, most especially their mouths, once they learn to run about and tell people about their genitalia and gas, everything they just learned from their friends or the television, and your private life with the new "daddy" who comes over for dates. This is also why it's good to have a membership at Costco; they sell duct tape in large quantities at wholesale prices. If you have duct tape left over, you can repair your $350 replica of the Millennium Falcon with tiny pieces and a lot of crying.

So I've heard.


In other news, I had a nightmare that I was thought to be a cop killer, when really all I'd done was steal candy with a bunch of co-workers in protest to our lack of holiday bonuses. The real killers got away, and I was pregnant. Jodawi and Mittel were raising Ana, and I was pregnant with another child, who also became their ward. Ended up making sure another child at Ana's school got safely back to her parents, but was followed by a vigilante cop who wanted to see justice done at his hands. Woke up before resolution, quite convinced I need to make an announcement to my dearest friends on here, which I will do after this post. *sighs, shudders*

I'm also either INFJ (most likely), INFP (more true now than before), or (on good days) ENFP. The links lead to the relationship page, not the overview, because it was easier for me to recognize myself in terms of parenting and lovers and such than it was to read about my daily life. Jen and I have just determined that there should be an index in the backs of these Jungian personality tests that include an entry entitled "writer." It would read: "If you are a writer, then none of this, or rather all of this, may apply to you. Or not. You're not normal. You don't fit in these categories, and you never will, so stop asking. Or go get a real job, you liberal git."

I am the son
And the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Oh, of nothing in particular

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way ?
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home, and you cry
And you want to die

When you say it's gonna happen "now"
Well, when exactly do you mean ?
See I've already waited too long
And all my hope is gone

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way ?
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
neversremedy8: (Default)
Sera was a big help and comfort today as we gathered some of my winter clothes and brought them over here. Though we had little time together before she left for work, I again felt the sensation of warmth.

Oh yes, I hope and pray I will again meet Corinne, whom Sera and I encountered both in the library and by the bus stop today. A lovely nanny with little black braids and wire-rimmed glasses who asked my name and talked with us a while. Sera speculates Corinne was interested in me, as I was in her ... ::sighs wistfully::

-------------------

Below was to be posted 12-01-01

Such passion, such determination, yet sometimes I feel so numb.

Recent dream (upon waking 11-30-01):

I spoke French, a teacher with blonde hair who had just moved into a cheap motel. One of my contacts brought me a man in need of help; his son ailed or did not meet his usual standard of “himself.” After a time, they convinced me to see the young boy.

He played in strange ways: winding himself up along the wall by twisting into a very large piece of smooth, red cloth, or would dive into feather-light balls and balloons wrapped inside a ring of this cloth. It took little time for me to help the boy, despite an initial confusion, though now I do not comprehend what help I gave, nor to what end (even less could I put it into words).
I know to many I appeared attractive, yet I had little interest in those who approached me as I stood out in a large parking lot. The building to which the lot belonged held a great gathering of people – a social event such as a concert or convention to which I briefly attended.
I finished my conversation with the father of the boy, and declined his advances, then proceeded to return to the building. The even winded down and I found myself amidst a dying party’s clutter. Balloons, streamers, and old plastic cups littered the floor. Seating myself at a folding circular table, I sipped at a drink I recently poured. Those people still in the main room/gallery watched a film on a very large screen that pertained to the gathering itself and held secrets of deep spirituality and the hidden meanings of life.
Someone sat to my right, as I had turned my back, and the chair with it, to the table to better view the film. It took a moment for me to notice this new addition to my table, but I finally turned to see my mother in a chair, leaning on the table almost as if she reclined on a dais on her side.
In my hands, I had unknowingly gathered a few of my favorite, though tight, clothes – a slip, a dress, maybe a short skirt as well. The actual items did not matter so much as their meaning. They were crumpled in my hand, held in a tight ball, and yet some material had burst out over the sides and hung limp around my hand.
I sat casually holding these clothes in one hand, my drink in the other, and turned slightly to focus my attention on my new companion – my mother. She explained in a melancholic tone that she had reached a turning point – a point of no return, and she had to make a decision. She wanted to remain large and maintain her abundance of flesh, but if she chose that she could never go back. The other choice was to lose the weight, yet gain other things.
I watched as she gave a sad glance at the clothing in my hand. She motioned to it and said, “at least I will be able to wear those again.” She had made her decision.

It took time for me to understand this dream’s meaning, but after I realized the mother in my dream stood as a representation of that part of myself as I see as her, or rather influenced by here (perhaps even “hers”), the meaning became clear. First though, I must explain I have always seen myself as half my mother and half my father – each is a complete opposite of the other. When I am with one, that is the parent whom people say I resemble. Add to that a childhood in which, growing up, I was mistaken for my mother’s sister many times, the odd occurrence of (since puberty) always being almost exactly half my mother’s weight. When she gains, I gain, when I lose, she will tell me she too has lost. Even when we live so far away as we do now (she in Germany, I, in the U.S.), she tells me of her fluctuations when I thought I had broken away from that particular connection.
My feelings of low self-worth led me to believe I could never be more than half my mother, never live up to her greatness – it’s only in the last two years I’ve been able to acknowledge that feeling (thanks, Sera!). I was shocked to discover once that I got higher scores on a particular (unofficial) I.Q. test than she. Literally stunned. My mother finds it difficult to live up to her father and his accomplishments and I’m worried about not even matching hers. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be the daughter trying to live up to the daughter of a famous writer? Ugh! I should not whine so... She’s striving to live up to a man who passed over two decades ago, and I turn myself into a nervous wreck trailing behind her. (Chronic Anxiety Disorder, anyone? I will not take Paxil, either!)
So, to finally get to my long-winded point: this dream represented the part of me associated with my mother, and this part of me decided it was going to be less my mother, and more me, so that one day I will be completely “me” with my loving mother only that – a powerful influence in the shaping of me, but not me. A nice healthy dream for a change – as for the other half of me representing my father ... well, things are a *bit* unresolved right now. Here I am, running after my goals, and he’s back there shouting, “you missed the off-ramp!” (You know, the one I had no intention of taking?)


Dream from 11-28-01:
The only things I remember were the elaborate examples of architecture and the high ceilings. Underneath one of these ceilings which struck awe in me, my guide in the dream explained not only were high ceilings aesthetically and practical for many functions, but they were requisite for something very spiritually important – though sadly, I no longer recall what that great importance is, I am only left with imprint of this importance ... and the ceilings.

Untitled, written 11-30-01:
I live in the Light, and though
I may falter along my path, shadows
Passing briefly over me,
It is in the Light I ultimately remain,
Grateful for my blessings of divine grace.

Gosh, with a statement (above) like that, you’d think I was a Christian.
neversremedy8: (Default)
We've got a lot to say, and I'm pretty sure, no one's reading this (ok, maybe a couple of people, but...) It isn't strange to write to a computer anymore, I'm sure a decade ago, it felt slightly strange using a journal on the computer, but here I am, posting, with the potential for everyone with a computer and internet access reading it. Where am I going with this? I'm not sure either...

Finally talked with Sera, in fact, she came over Monday and spent some time, helped with more brainstorming ideas for our ever-frustrating novel, and played with Ana. Of course, she did not forget to bring the requisite tribute to our little goddess, a "MEGA" pack of diapers, the next size up! She's growing fast.

We talked extensively, though most of it involved writing, we still managed to converse about some of the issues which I found most important. We also managed to get in some cuddle time while Ana slept, a very warm, relaxing experience. At a few points I believe Sera fell asleep, but that's alright, it felt nice with Ana snuggled against me, and Sera behind me, with her arm wrapped around us both. Sweet, gentle, and W-A-R-M ... mmmm ...

Thanksgiving: Ana and I spent a short time at my Aunt Rosemary's for a traditional turkey dinner with all those family members who'd rather I not talk. ::smiles:: Anastasia stole their attention, and entertained all. Even my first cousins (all boys between the ages of 12-20) enjoyed her antics. Dinner was pleasant, but I did feel rushed as they ordered a taxi for us and sent us on our way. ::sighs:: Ah, well, what did I expect from an (soap) opera? A happy ending? We did get sent home with left overs... num... and Ana's definitely a "dark meat eater." ::giggles::

On Saturday (the 17h?), I had a very strange dream which prompted me to begin drawing prototypes for my own line of dildos... before anyone can gasp... ::pulls out her official "Kinky Pervert" badge:: I am a card carrying member! It's ok! ::surreptitious smile::
So, on Sera's suggestion, I'm going to post the details of said dream:

I have no home, and much of civilization seems to be detroyed. The only companion I have is a very large, possessive male tiger. We roam from place to place, and whenever I encounter danger, the tiger attacks those who would do me harm. Before nightfall I always manage to find a place to sleep ... always sweet small rooms with a bed and guazy curtains blowing in the open windows. Each room we find is cream or white, with little specks of vibrant colour. Outside almost every window is a private garden, filled with purple and white flowers and green all around. The flora is lush and thick. Each night, after finding our room, I would lay down, and the tiger would climb atop me ... for a large wild cat, he was fairly gentle ... (feel free to infer what you may into what happened next). ::wistful sigh:: Alice never had it so good in Wonderland ...

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