Tuesday, August 25, 2009

I'm Feeling...



Sunday, August 23, 2009

So I Weep

I'm not feeling well.

I'm not sick, really, just not feeling...well.

Actually, that's not true.

I feel like crap.

I would usually rather burn my hair than admit that in public...or private. I usually grin and bear it. But I made this blog so I could bitch, moan, and complain at will.

I stopped taking my medication last October because we ran out of money...and then my husband lost his job and we had no insurance AND no money. They're not psych meds, so hush. They're for...never mind. If you know me, you know why I take them, and if you don't know...you may ask or wonder.

Anyway. Last week, my mother offered to fund a return to my MD and medication. Bless her.

Trouble is, restarting the meds means I get to feel like three kinds of Hell for a while, until I get used to them again. Yay.

I've had a headache since yesterday, bad enough it's made me cry a few times. I've been the only parent home with the boy all weekend. He is unrelenting in his boyishness, his energy, and I have tried very hard not to shed tears in his presence or to yell at him for being himself. I have succeeded, at the cost of a little more of my sanity. Sigh.

I'm exhausted, despite a decent night's sleep - and all I really wanted to do tonight was talk to Someone for a little while, crawl into my bed alone, and die until tomorrow, when I have to peel myself up and go get blood drawn for labs.



The chat service we use to connect online is being mean to me, constantly dropping me out of chat. Someone keeps disappearing, and I don't know if it's the chat or because he's also busy tinkering with a new gadget, or may have fallen asleep - it's getting late, he works long hours and has to be up early in the morning. I could call...but his phone is off because it was misbehaving, and anyway I don't like to call after a certain time in case he's sleeping.

Sigh, again.

And my head still hurts.

I'm frustrated, and lonely, and could really use hearing Someone's voice, and I'm whining and ill...and so...I weep.

I am going to go bury my head in my pillow and hope the phone rings soon...

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Staccato Dreaming

Went to sleep: 3 AM

Woke up: 4 AM, 6 AM, 7 AM, 8:30 AM, 9 AM

Got up: 10 AM

Figure half an hour to get back to sleep every time I woke up, sometimes a little more.

In those brief moments of dipping into Morpheus' realm, he and I danced frantic steps, a tarantella of images, sounds, impressions, whirling past my mind's eye, dizzying.

Morpheus, by the way, tends to step on your toes when he's dancing with you. But he has a nice smile and laughs freely, and he's always sorry after, if he bruised your piggies.

I dreamed of fire. Of looking at a map on the computer, some sort of satellite image, and seeing fires raging from Texas up to Canada and East to Alabama. Walls, curtains of flames flickering, eerily still and silent, not marching onward but just...there. They could not be extinguished, and I remember remarking that someone set the Salamander loose.

I dreamed of wind, sweeping across the continents, a wall of air scrubbing the land clean. Trees bowed, bent, or broke. Houses lost roofs, people were flung about like rag dolls. It was relentless, a sound that accompanied day, night, thought, constant, notable only in its rare absence. The Sylphs were on the march.

I dreamed of a flood, flowing forth from a bathroom sink, filing the house I was in, flowing outward into the neighborhood that looked alien in the dream but was, I knew, a place I'd lived before. The water filled every hollow, every declivity, rolled and rippled onward until it built itself into a tremendous wave...the Undine making her presence felt.

I dreamed of trembling earth, of mountains tumbling down, landing in scattered piles of stone, dirt, debris. Trees toppled, and houses and buildings, and no one could take a steady step - walking required loose hips, loose backs, or the ability to float above it all. The surface cracked, and out poured gas, fire, heat, and a sort of howling, creaking, shrieking noise, as if the planet was being rent to her core...and the Gnomes were tunneling, tunneling, tunneling...

I dreamed of a space shuttle going up, up, up... I was there, outside the shuttle, perhaps a cloud or the wind itself, watching the fragile roaring tube force itself through the air and into the cold dark. At the same time, I was a person on the ground, in a tall building. I was trying to find all my possessions in a room and pack them up, carry them downstairs. As I worked, I was reassuring someone else in the room that the shuttle was fine, that now was ignition, and now it was climbing, and now the main fuel tanks were done and shed, step by step telling the other person what was happening and that everything was fine.

I was carrying boxes down the stairs, wondering when I got all this stuff in my short stay, and a little grumbly because someone was supposed to be helping me but he (don't ask me who - in this dream, everyone was "someone", indistinct, amorphous) was too busy doing...I don't know what, but it wasn't helping. I had to be certain I got everything out. I don't know why, only that it was urgent.

All of these things I dreamed in minutes, snatches, fragments, staccato dreaming coming in fits and starts as I tried (without trying, because making an actual effort to sleep rather defeats the purpose) to sleep.

I wonder what I will dream tonight??

The Empty Room

Gods cursed little voice, nattering away at me - if I didn't know better, I would claw at my own head to dig it out, make it stop. I can understand trephaning, really - perhaps those ancients who practiced it had evil little voices, too, hurling nasty, hurtful things at them from within their own skulls until they couldn't bear it any more and had to relieve the pressure any way they could.



Nothing...an echo in the dark.



I'm in an empty room, and I'm echoing.

There was someone here not long ago, and the room was full to overflowing.

Now? Now, it's empty.

There was a need greater than mine, and the presence left to answer it.

There is always a need greater than mine. Always has been. Always will be. I've gotten rather used to it, had many years to grow used to it, to that other need that is louder, more insistent, pulls stronger. Story of my life. Sigh.


Nope. Still alone in here.

Rather used to sitting in the dark, listening to the rustling remnants of conversation, of motion and light, things that shattered, scattered, fell to dust when the room emptied of everyone but me.

I can't leave.

And anyway, where would I go?



Just an empty room.