Speaking of dreams

I woke this morning almost in tears, after a terrrible nightmare had rocked my sleep, yet again. It's pretty typical for me to have them, but they never get any easier to deal with. Each one a little worse than the last. This one was about one of my close friends. Not fun.
I was driving along on in a car I haven't owned in more than 5 years, on a road that weaved through the marine corps base. The base, however, was not the one on which I live now. PMO pulled me over for what I assumed was another speeding ticket. I was crying so hard because I knew I wasn't speeding, but they wouldn't hear it. They made me get out of my car, told me to find another way home as I was not getting that car back again. I somehow managed to see the police report and saw that they were picking me up on suspicion of drugs, and apparently a headlight out. When I arrived home, to a house that I do not live in, and have never seen in my life, my friend was standing at the top of the stairs waiting for me. For whatever reason, she had moved in with my family and me.
After relaying my story to my friend and realizing that she did not seem at al surprised, I asked her if everything was okay. She replied with an evil laugh and the confession that she had set it up, and that PMO would be coming to take me away soon. She said that she was jealous of what I had accomplished in life, and of all the nice things that I had, so she was taking it. Apparently she had only asked to move in because she liked my daughters bedroom and knew she could have her kicked out of it for her. In disbelief I went to walk up the stairs towards her and she hit me with a metal bat.
That woke me up. I was almost in tears and messaged her immediately. Everything is as it should be.
Generally, I can make a decent connection from my subconscious to my dreams, but this one has me stumped.

Two months... already??

It's the two month anniversary of my friend's death today. It is also his wife's birthday. What a great reminder every year, huh? I spoke to her this morning and she was miserable, and was dealing with a hangover from last nights festivites. Needless to say, she was not really in the mood for conversation.
I can not imagine how she must feel. My husband annoys the hell out of me on a daily basis, he goes on deployments to fight for his country, risking his life, but I can not fathom what it must feel like to lose a spouse. Watching them die is something else altogether. I am an extremely strong person, and have been through quite a bit in the little time I've been here on Earth, but I do not feel that I would have the strength to deal with someone that close to me dying.
I am really excited to take the death and dying class next semester. For some reason, I am fascinated by that concept lately, and surely just because of Tracky's death.
I wrote a song about death once. It was written because it seemed that everyone I knew had someone die on them.... all within two weeks of each other. All my friends were miserable, and it felt like the life was gone from them, too.
The song is now one of my favorites of mine. If anyone is interested, it can be heard at www.myspace.com/avengelyna
It is called 'Convulserator'.

Oh, to be a blue bird

I used to walk during my lunch break... most days.

One day, as I left the parking lot with it's big iron gate, and turned the corner to the first stretch of my walking route, a blue bird landed in front of me and began to hop along beside me, as though it's purpose for the day was to join me while I dutifully worked exercise into my life. The sun was shining through the many clouds that cover that beautiful city on an almost too regular basis (in most people's opinions... I however, love clouds, rain etc). This magnificent creature, with it's impossible-to-describe-the-exact-shade-of-blue feathers, made itself a part of my life for just a few moments, looking curiously up at me; a giant compared to it's tiny frame. Yet it was not afraid. It did not fly away. It just hopped happily along with me, taking in my thoughts, like an old friend listening to my troubles without me needing to say a word.

Just seeing that bird, with the sun shining on our backs as we walked together for that brief moment in time, made me think about all the beautiful things in my life that I should be grateful for.

Oh, to be a blue bird. To be able to inspire as this bird inspired me.

At first, I thought it was it's physical beauty that made me think about beauty itself. But I was wrong. It had nothing to do with the stunning display of color which adorned it's wings, but the innocence and absolute trust with which it presented itself to me... somehow knowing that I would not dream of abusing that trust by hurting it in any way.
That innocence is what made me think about true beauty for the remainder of my walk.
Perhaps it is time to remember that lesson again now. To truly appreciate the beautiful things in my life, to keep myself grounded and humble.

Oh, to be a blue bird...

The little engine that could

It's tough to write a lit crit paper, and say what you mean, while arguing that your perception of the book is the true and correct meaning. I have an A in all my other classes and can finish my first semester with a 4.0 GPA, providing I get one in my English class... so I am terrrified! Perhaps that is the problem; knowing that it is so close, and putting excess pressure on myself. Time to recite positive affirmations and continue plugging away. I can write this paper. My thoughts are valid, and I am presenting them in a way that pleases Ms Cheraz. They are clear, meaningful, and true to my thesis. I will succeed. I will succeed. I will succceed.

He won't forget you in a hurry

St Patricks Day. One year later.
I was walking along that same dirt road I had seen one year ago. So many bad memories, so much hurt and heart ache. The bar was lively, oblivious to what this day meant for me. I could already hear the music flowing through the open windows. Cars that were headed to the pub were driving along beside me. One in particular, a dark SUV with a young, good looking guy inside slowed to my walking pace.
"mmmmm you headed to the bar? My friends are over there in that other building and I don't wanna be lonely in there by myself"
"you don't want to be around me today, trust me"
"yeah I do cutie... I'll buy you a drink"
I jumped onto the front of his car. I could feel warm metal underneath my butt, and we drove to the bar slowly with me riding on the hood.
"you should call your friends and tell them to get out of that building, it's gonna go up in flames anyway"
Some people, especially when they are strangers just don't know how to take a comment like that, so they laugh it off; take it as a joke.
"hahahahaha we don't need them around, I'm not lonely now I have you to hang with", I watched in horror as yet again, my words rang too true.
The building lit up the night sky, smoke quickly forming a screen so no-one could see what was going on. My new 'friend' ran to the burning cage that held on tight to his friends. I sat in the gutter and cried.
What was it about me and this place? Why was it that when I woke that morning I just knew that I had to be there again that day? Why did I know that my feeling of doom was going to be lived out as it had one year before?
That's when he walked up. A stranger wearing a dark hoodie pulled tight around his face, dark galsses and a long, red beard. The wirey, stringy kind of beard. He made me nervous as he approached me, but he sat quietly beside me and followed my gaze as I watched that guy run to his friends and cried.
"he's not going to forget you in a hurry"
"what? what makes you say that?"
He laughed.
I got up to walk away and he grabbed my arm.
"You're a witch. Don't EVER forget that"

I woke up screaming for the first time in quite a while yesterday. It freaked the absolute hell out of me. The smell of fire and death is still in my nose and has been making me ill ever since I woke up.

Sure, go ahead.

It was early in the afternoon, and I could almost feel the light draining from the day. Something wasn't right. Still, I ordered another round of Guiness and sat down with friends; friends that I had made through M. He, too, was there. I could feel the rough grain of the wooden table beneath my fingers as we talked and I fidgeted, as is my way. Conversation led to the cars we could see driving up and down the dirt road that ran alongside the Irish pub we were in. A couple of the boys thought they should ask if they could join in, since fishtailing up a dirt road is somewhat appealing to boys, especially after a few drinks.
"Sure, go ahead, they're gonna burn up once that one hits that tree and rolls back into the other two."
Blank stares from everyone at the table followed by "what the hell are you talking about Fliss?", "why would you say something like that?", "that's not even funny. I thought we were having a good day today, why start in on that bull?".
"Sorry" I said, and finished the last of my beer.
The boys that were going to play in the cars got up and walked out, visually and verbally making their annoyance with my comment known.
The sun started to set and it seemed like the afternoon was disappearing quickly into some kind of time warp. I watched the boys walk along the dusty road towards the now moonlit cars, childishly playing in the soft surface beneath the tires. The people left at the table with me seemed oblivious to what was going on just outside that window, yet I could not take my eyes off them. I tried to continue conversation while we drank our beer and celebrated the day that everyone is a little Irish.
The celtic band was playing all sorts of magical, happy notes as young girls dressed in traditional Irish dress danced about in their tap shoes for the well-on-their-way patrons. Those notes and sounds became blurry as I watched my comment from earlier in the afternoon drift word for word out the window and along the dirt road to where it settled in slow motion on the car sliding into the old, oversized tree that was looming above them. Then came the loud and thunderous boom as the side of the car made contact with the solidness of that tree. Everyone in the bar turned to look out that window by our table, as the sound was so intrusive it had deafened the band. The sky lit up with flames that had been forseen, and the smell of fright and disbelief hung heavy throughout that bar. All eyes watched as the car ricocheted off the tree and into the path of the other two cars that were now frantically trying to gain control and get out of the way. It was useless. More flames as the sound of metal against metal scratched against everyones core.
"What the hell did you do? YOU KNEW!!!!" Accusing eyes were now upon me, like somehow I had something to do with this. All around me, people erupted into panic and disarray. There were so many legs running towards the burning cars, and screams of help could still be faintly heard above the noise from the twisted wrecks. Confused questions were still being screamed at me while I sat and wondered what had made me say what I had said this afternoon. Had I seen it before? Had I dreamed it? Hadn't those words just come out knowlingly, without even really having to think about it beforehand at all? Yes. That's exactly how it had been. It was as if the image of it was seen for the first time as I spoke the words; like it was something I was conjuring up as I went. As the final moans of helplessness came from the trapped bodies inside the charred remnants of what once were cars, I walked away from the people who had called me their friend until today. I knew that this would change things. It already had.

Finally

My friend died on Friday. He had cancer that started out as melanoma, and in the last 7 months spread to his organs, his spine, his bones and his brain. For the last week he was barely a shadow of the person I knew, laying in his bed with a diaper on, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. I'm glad that he is gone, and no longer has to suffer the ridiculous amount of pain that no 35 year old man that served his country in the United States Army should have felt outside of combat. I am glad that his wife no longer has to sit by his bed, day after day, holding on and being strong for him, trying to be just his wife instead of his nurse. I am glad that I don't have to think of him writhing in pain whenever a breath was trying to work it's way in and out of his lungs. Oh, the joy to know that his brain is not trying to function through the mush it became anymore. But I hurt. I hurt so bad for his wife, and his family and for myself. I hurt for the people who are not over the suffering, but are beginning yet another round of it. I hurt for the fact that I won't hear him laughing on the other end of the phone, telling me that a dingo ate his baby in a horrible Australian accent. I hurt knowing that he won't be coming to visit this summer like we planned. I hurt knowing that he wont fly another kite with my daughters. I hope he doesn't hurt anymore.