Dream #454

I had a dream my parents moved into a new house. There was no furniture anywhere and they were painting each of the rooms. I made the suggestion that one of the smaller rooms should start as a wheat color at the bottom of the walls and after a few feet, turn to a sky blue color to kind of match the look of the rolling Midwest plains. I don't know why, but I can't shake the image of fields of wheat blowing slightly in the wind as the sun shines down and that quiet rustle as the stalks touch one another. Something about it just makes sense, like the meaning of life is there somewhere in that picture in my head. There was a window in the room. One window, and it looked out on fields of wheat under a blow sky. The reality of what I wanted the room to represent.

Run Hamster, Run!

It's 1am on a Saturday night (or Sunday morning, depending how you look at it) and I am stuck in the Truman Show (or a popular Las Vegas Casino, depending how you look at it). Across the room from me, a celebrity mom, who shall remain nameless, sits on the lap of a gay man and downs another tequila shot in her above the thigh black dress and 4 inch heels. Her son plays cards in his backwards hat and over sized t-shirt with an assistant's boyfriend, who's job title just dropped to celebrity child babysitter. While her daughter, looking way to old for her age, gets her tears wiped, over a plate of nachos, by a mother figure with whom she has recently bonded. As I watch the scene unfold before me, I ask myself one question..."When Did This Become My Life?" Not in a negative, ungrateful way...more in a "Are you kidding me?" kind of way. When did my life become Las Vegas parties and watching hamsters as they spin on their wheels locked inside their dirty little cages? When did my life become Hugh Hefner in his bathrobe and sharing elevators with the "Girls Next Door"? Why does my mom say, "I watched your trailer and I thought, Please God, get her another job!" And while some people may think it's not entertainment and it's warping the minds of our youth, I'm not complaining. In fact, the truth is...I kind of like hamsters.

Not So Epic Struggle

I stepped out on the tennis court. Across from it was the same person I played a few weeks ago: the same person who beat me 6-3 and didn't allow me to hold serve once. The main difference was the heat, a sweltering 95 degrees in the sun. My nerves were still there, but I knew I had to focus. My opponent didn't want to warm up, I agreed and we started immediately. He had won the toss and chose to serve. He served, I won the point, and the next one, and the next one. I won eleven points in a row. I was up 3-0, then I was up 5-0 and serving to close out a match against someone I struggled against last time we played. The nerves crept in, I went down 15-40 with some bad errors. But I focused, I held it together. I did what I needed to do and won 6-0.
I don't know that much has changed since I struggled to win points in our previous match. Maybe it was the heat, maybe I was a little more focused. It's just strange that sometimes I can be so on and sometimes I can be so off. I think I tend to fly between two extremes. Instead of looking for common ground, I take things dramatically, drastically. It's either horrible or wonderful.
A friend was talking after the match and said "It's tennis," and he was right. It just is. It doesn't always have to be an epic struggle.

Another Dream...

My dream last night involved being in a park/forest type area. There were tennis courts, swings, other things all around and trees surrounded the entire area. As I was walking along towards the edge of the park area, I noticed tractors and other heavy equipment at work. They were tearing down the trees and digging up the ground not even caring if people were there or not. I had to run a few times to avoid being hit by huge falling trees.
I think deep down I'm dealing with the things people do and what they say and how they go about their lives. I don't know if people really understand how their actions effect others sometimes. It just seems like people bulldoze past things without really taking a look at their surroundings and taking those extra few seconds to figure out a way to maybe lesson the impact.
It's funny because in my dream, there were people who were going about their day, unmoved by all that was falling down around them. I sometimes wish I could be more like that. I pretend to be sometimes, but it doesn't mean things don't still sting. I guess it's good because I care. Despite the fact that I'm weary sometimes, there's still a heart that hurts. I'm not completely checked out. I'm not completely dead inside.

Foreign Territory

It's strange being away from a spot I've grown so accustomed to. Little did I know, months ago, when I picked that spot what would happen because of it. It's one of those little things that has big consequences. I didn't know it at the time, but when I sat down and took my place, my fate had been decided. I became tied to other people in very specific ways with no choice in the matter.
I wonder why things happen the way they do. How different would things be had my seat been switched. It's a huge deal. I can't begin to imagine how different things would be. My attitude, my workload, my life. Maybe for better, maybe for worse.
Once again, it's about control. It's about wanting to know what I'm setting myself up for.
I remember starting 8th grade close to the end of the school year in Florida after my family had moved from Germany. I was sitting in the gym and some kids called me over, but I wouldn't go. I found out later that they were the "in crowd" and I think the decision not to come when I was called has been symbolic for most of my life. There's something in me that resists going in certain directions... Maybe for better, maybe for worse. I don't know if it's an irrational fear or a subconscious mode of protection, but deep down maybe I'm trying to exhibit whatever control I can over the smallest things.
For some reason, there's a bubble that's not ready to burst. But I think I'm secretly hoping that one day it does.

Truth & Consequences

To tell the truth... When is the right time? Do you wait around? Do you try to spare the other person's feelings? Do you say "I'm fine" when someone asks you how you're feeling just because you don't want to get into it? Do you hold it because letting it out would feel good, but dealing with the aftermath of what you let out just doesn't seem pleasant?
I don't know, I guess it depends on the circumstances. I don't think anyone would want to be privy to what goes on in my head at any given moment. Sometimes it's fine but other times it's dangerous. Sometimes it's calm and other times things are so out of control. And it's always changing. What's true for me now could change a minute from now, it's just a never-ending swirl of emotions. Sometimes I look back at things I've written and wonder who the person writing them is. The handwriting looks just like mine, but I wonder how those thoughts could have ever gone through my head.
In college, I freaked out once and destroyed all my journals just because I couldn't deal with what I had written. I ripped them up into shreds, put them into a jar, and filled the jar with water and bleach. It's pretty scary thinking that I couldn't deal with my own truths.
I guess in the end things just happen. And you just try to do your best to manage. Like in the fall, when the leaves keep fallings from the trees, you rake up pile after pile, but there's always more blowing around.

No She Didn't

The new bike path running along the Orange Line in the Valley is a place away from time. People walk or bike along cheerfully, they take their kids and teach them how to ride their bikes, people smile or say hello as you pass them. It's a nice little getaway safe from crazy cars and the crazy people driving them.
Well, usually it's a nice getaway. As I was riding along yesterday, with the sun shining and a brisk breeze blowing, I saw something ahead of me: a woman behind the barrier where people wait for the bus. She looked around and then pulled down her pants and started to pee. It was kind of traumatizing seeing ass and urine right in front of me as I biked past. Very strange. A reminder of where I live.
Of course, it wasn't as bad as the time on the subway when a woman pulled down her pants and lied down on the floor of the car as it was moving and started to fulfill needs that are all together more sensual. What is it with public transportation these days?

Dreams

As I was biking to work, I remembered my dream from last night. I was dead. I wasn't even present, life was just going on without me. People were going to work, there were cars on the street. It's amazing that some of us can have profound changes in our life while the rest of us just go about our days. I think it's just a reminder that life can pass you by in an instant... or a week... Things can change unexpectedly and you can either change with them or get left behind. As open minded as I think I am, I think I'm pretty resistant to things changing. I get caught up in the way things are and kind of lose sight of the fact that just because things have always been a certain way, it doesn't mean they can't be better... or worse. Kind of like hotel rooms...

Chips

I'm not into birthdays or holidays. I've been like that for awhile. I'm fine with the ideas behind these days, but I think I let the expectations overwhelm me. Personally, I don't desire a day when people are forced into remembering me out of obligation. I'm fine celebrating other people's special days, but I'm not into having myself celebrated like that at all.
I think it's because nothing really seems special on those days, there's always that sense of expectation. I take full responsibility for that, but what I find the most special are the little things. When someone thinks enough of me to bring back the chips they didn't eat at lunch, it's really nice. Seriously. When someone gets me a grilled cheese at In-n-Out just because they were there, it doesn't get much better. When someone buys me a shirt because they saw it and thought of me, it's the greatest gift. It's what people do when they're just going about their day that really shows their true colors. It's a true surprise--one without any expectation. When someone just thinks of you without any catalyst, that's something truly special.

Easter Hater

I have no use for Easter this year.
I have no use for pastel colors and wicker baskets and chocolate eggs.
I don’t want to see children running and laughing in their Easter best,
searching for hidden eggs on the backyard slope of their relatives’ house.
I don’t want to eat ham or go to church
or get together with family and friends.
Because you still have your niece...
and she still has her daughter...
and they still have the same family they had this time last year.
So go eat your ham, and paint your eggs, and wear your Easter bonnet...
enjoy it while you can.
Because Easter may not look the same
this time next year.

Lucky

Being away from place I'm so used to is sobering. It's quite a thought when you realize that the world keeps on turning without you doing the things you're so used to doing. Life goes on. But it works the other way too. I think it's good to get away and clear your mind and remind yourself of the things that are important to you. Work-wise, there is about one thing that's important and it's the person who sits behind me. It makes me really appreciate what a good deal I got when I got my current job. Of all the people in all the world, I was lucky enough to get someone I could relate to, especially when the pool of those people is probably pretty small. Things do happen for a reason. Maybe I don't realize it until way after, but at this point, I do realize I'm lucky to have met Petricia. She's a doll.

Is This All There Is?

I used to believe in God. I was sent to Catholic school for eight years and I bought into the whole "devil with the horns and tail" bit. My mother even told me that my dad was going to hell because he didn't believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross for our sins. There were days...months...years when I didn't question the existence of a higher power, but now...I'm not so sure. I mean, it seems rather idealistic to believe that there is this world, in the clouds, that exists where you have no worries, no fears, and you spend your days skipping through a field of tulips and dragonflies with your childhood dog, Mike. What if this is all there is? What if we make up the idea of an afterlife to kid ourselves into believing that death isn't as bad as it seems...that those we love and adore really aren't gone. What if the pain would be too much to bear if we accepted the truth, so we pretend and we cling to any strand of hope that they are still with us...watching us...helping us. What if God is our year round Santa Claus?

Crossing the Street

It's strange. I cross the same street almost every day. It's a busy intersection and I try to stay aware, but sometimes things are just out of my hands. Yesterday a car almost made a left hand turn into me and had to swerve and brake to avoid hitting me. Then a car gliding through a red light to make a right turn had to brake to actually stop while I crossed to the other side.
No matter how much you pay attention, no matter how much you try to stay in control, there are a whole lot of other factors in the world that can decide matters without you having a say.
When that first car was coming towards me, I was paralyzed. The smart thing to do would be to move or run or at least try to get out of the way, but I was frozen. In that moment, I was completely at the will of the driver, what he did would decide my fate. I think that's what makes it hard to get out of my own way sometimes. It's hard to admit that sometimes you're just at the will of all the other people in the world who are going along, making choices or not making them, of things just happening without any warning.
Of course my mind started to wonder what if. What if I was mowed down? What if I was injured? Life can change in an instant... I don't know why sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn't. Walking around with that idea... with the knowledge that no matter what you do, you still are not in complete control can be a scary prospect.
I really hope that everything happens for a reason. If not, what am I left with?


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Pushing Through

It's weird. I finally pushed out of my comfort zone and it wasn't that bad. I was expecting horrors. I was trying to figure out any way to get out of doing what I said I would do. I was nervous, but I pushed through and did what I hinted at doing and it wasn't that bad. It was enjoyable even. Yes, it was nerve-wracking as well, but I came through it and I learned a few things and maybe even enjoyed myself.
Fear is there for a reason. It keeps us from making stupid mistakes, but where's the line between safe fear and irrational fear? I find myself driven by fear of doing things, even the smallest things. When did fear start to bleed into my living of life? I'm scared of so much, but it's all this inconsistent mist of my own creation.
I guess maybe it's just going to take a lot of practice to get out of my box. Just getting in the mode of being completely terrified, pushing through and realizing in the end it wasn't that bad. I hope it's a lesson I can eventually learn.

The Art Of Grief Manipulation

I am considering joining a grief group. That even sounds weird. It sounds like something I shouldn’t have to be considering. I would rather just pretend like none of this ever happened. But even with a grief group, I manage to manipulate the experience and have twisted, unreal expectations. For example, I weigh whether to attend this group in Woodland Hills, which is closer to my work, or West LA, where I feel the grievers would be more to my liking. I am judging the grievers by where they live. Who lives in Woodland Hills anyway? In my mind, it is a kind of suburban utopia. I have an image of being surrounded by eighty year old widows and middle aged housewives who have lost a parent to old age or a book club friend to breast cancer. I can’t believe I am judging grief. What have I become? I am trying to influence the googlemaps page, so Sawtelle appears closer, simply so I can surround myself by those that I presume will be dealing with a loss that is more fashionable. Maybe a gay guy dealing with the death of his partner to AIDS, or a hip thirty something actress who’s sister was murdered in the East Village. I can’t believe I even have these thoughts; I shouldn’t even be allowed through the door of the support center.

Writer's Block

It has hit me once again. Like a sledgehammer in the face. My pool is dry. Every word on the page is like a chore. Fifteen minutes wasted, with my head buried in my hands, racking my brain, filtering through every word memorized, every crossword solved, every Scrabble turn played, just to come up with a synonym for mistaken. It shouldn't be this hard. Mastering a chocolate soufflé shouldn't be this hard. The cursor on my computer screen flashes so many times that I soon mistake it for a flashing crosswalk pedestrian and I actually get up and begin briskly walking across my office. It seems strange to have writer's block when you’re a writer. I wonder…do doctors suffer from surgery block? Do they suddenly forget what to do next while performing a quadruple bypass? Do they fake it like I do? Just begin doing the motions, moving the scalpel from organ to organ, hoping something will come to them? What if the president experienced president's block? He just woke up in the morning and couldn't remember anything, didn’t know how to respond when the press asked him questions, had no idea what he was doing in the White House or how he got there (wait a minute…this sounds a little too familiar…I think this is affecting the current administration). There is another similarity between my writer's block and the current administration… in both cases, I can’t wait for them to end.

Not So Thriving Oleanders

So the Santa Anas have been blowing a little too hot...
So the rain has fallen a little too much...
It doesn't mean we aren't trying to thrive...
It doesn't mean we're less dangerous to touch.

Bitter

I remember my 6^th grade teacher handing out awards to the class at the end of the year. While she was handing the last one out, she announced that it was the first time she had to create a category for a student because the award wasn’t something she was ever compelled to award before. The student was me, and the award was for “Outstanding Cheerfulness.”

That was 6^th grade. A year later, I remember someone coming up to me in gym class and asking “Why don’t you ever smile?”

I don’t know when the line was drawn. When did I go from being outstandingly cheerful to never smiling? Looking back, I feel that once I crossed the line there was no turning back. And things just keep getting worse and worse. I have recently been called “moody,” “bitchy,” and “angry.” I’ve been told that my “snarky-ness cuts like a knife.” It’s not like I want to be those things, I don’t take pride it those attributes. It’s embarrassing being viewed as some sour spoilsport.

Although no one has said it, I’m scared that I’ve been pickled in these negatives so long that I’m edging closer and closer towards bitter. How do I get back? I wonder if my innocence is lost. Now that I’ve opened up my mind to darkness, can the light ever shine through?

I don’t want to be bitter. I don’t want to be one of those people others see and ask “What happened to him to make him like that?” But every day it seems I inch closer and closer. My moods are most often foul. I scowl more than smile. Where is salvation?

Nerves of...

How do I fight my nerves? They seem to win in the most important of situations. Namely, tennis matches. In practice, I'm golden. Shots go where I want them to the majority of times and I know what I'm doing. This Sunday was a rude awakening. It was the start of my tennis league and I lost against someone I had beaten twice before. I could not hit a forehand to save my life. It's usually my most potent shot, but we abandoned each other and couldn't find our way back to one another. I ended up losing 6-3 and didn't hold serve once. My serve is usually to set up my forehand, but I would set up my forehand and miss it.
I really don't know what to do and it's frustrating. Sometimes it's better, sometimes it's worse and I don't know what the cause is. I think I would be a better person all around if I could figure out a way to control my nerves and insecurity but that answer is too foggy right now. On the plus side, although my initial instinct is to bash my racket and never play again, after the hurt clears, I want to be out there on the court as soon as possible. I want to find my redemption in a perfect swing.

The beginning of a poem...

The things you said--
What you didn't say--
Are all scattered along the highway.