I do not resent the fact that I come second in your life. How could I? Of course she comes first, she’s your DAUGHTER. There is nothing in this life more important than our kids and I can’t understand anyone who puts other people before thier children. I would never make you choose. Ever. If anything I’d take the choice from you and you know it.
Do you dream?
Do you wake in the night with sweat on your brow, your heart thundering in your ears? Do you lay there, staring at the formless dark, daring it to take on shape as you struggle to recall the events that made your blood race through your veins and your breath catch in your throat? Of course you do. You have these nightmares just like the rest of us here in this dark province. You are just as much a shadow as the phantoms in your mind that clutch at your sanity in the wee hours of night.
You struggle out of bed, free yourself from the tangle of sweat-soaked sheets and stumble blindly to the bathroom, blink tears when you fumble the lights on. You brace yourself on the counter and will your breathing to ease, your heart to slow from its mad gallop so that you can focus, think about what it is you have seen. Your eyes adjust slowly, and by the time your vision is not impaired by the harsh yellow light you are breathing more like a normal man and not a prey animal. You peer at yourself in the mirror; the ordinariness of your surroundings, but you know, as surely as you know your own reflection, that there are things beyond all this ordinary that clamour to change reality. It is easier to face this fact in the light.
You take a deep breath and survey your figure; the lean lines of your naked torso in the yellow light; the stubble on your chin and the dark circles under your eyes that speak of your nocturnal odysseys into unknown spheres. You have so many questions and you know the answers do not lie in this bathroom. Nor in this suburb, nor in this city, but somewhere just as close. Close but other.
You’ve been dreaming in daylight now. You’ve seen some of the creatures from your nightmares on the streets, in the coffee shop where you get your latte in the morning. In the grocery store, the video store. They’ve been following you. Your dreaming mind is taking over your waking one. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself, but what if you’re wrong? What if that other place, that reality that exists in parallel with this one was breaking through? You shudder, brace youself again on the edge of the counter. You must be mad, it’s the only logical explanation.
There’s a knock at your door. Your flesh crawls with something akin to dread. You slip on your bathrobe and pad barefoot through the kitchen to the door. The clock on the microwave reads 3am. You peer through the blind on the door and see nothing. Part of you wants to back away from the door and crawl back into the warmth of your bed, but another is irritated that someone would dare knock at this time of night. Against your better judgement, you pull open the door.
“There had better be an emergency,” you growl.
“Oh, but there is,” says a voice and you blink, look down. Your visitor stands there, hidden in the shadows. She barely comes up to your chest and her features are drawn into an expression you can barely decipher as a grim frown. “Invite me in, there is little time,” she says. You hesitate, remembering something about vampires and thresholds. But you are bigger than she is and you are not dreaming.
“Come in,” you say and step aside. She enters, glances around and settles herself in one of your kitchen chairs. You do not sit, but stand where you are, allowing the door to click shut. “Who are you?” you ask, not caring that your voice sounds harsh even in your ears.
“I am a messenger,” she says evenly.
“Do you have a name?”
“I have many,” she replies and you clench your teeth.
“Why are you here then?” you ask, trying another tack.
“To give you a message.”
“Naturally, since you’re a messenger,” you snap. “What is it then?”
“The world as you know it is in grave danger,” she says. “and you are the only one who can stop it.” You pause and hear yourself laugh a little: a snort of laughter that sounds loud and harsh in the silence.
“You’re being melodramatic. I’m no hero and you’re a lunatic,” you say, tying your robe tighter, you gesture to the door. “Get out.”
“They said you would be rude and unconvinced,” she replies, but does not budge from the chair.
“Who are “they” and why me?”
“They are the Oracles. It has been foretold that a mortal will be the one to save the Twin Worlds from annihilation. They believe that you are that mortal.”
“Why?”
“You have been dreaming, have you not?” she asks and her voice is suddenly gentle. You feel yourself falling - not physically, but inside; all the pieces of your nightmares and waking dreams falling into a pattern. Your gasp is loud in the early morning silence. You find yourself on your knees and the tiny woman is smiling sadly at you.
“Yes,” she says. “You are indeed the one.”
listening to: Collide - Halo
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. Well, between all the crap at work and the crap at home there’s not much time for that… unless one makes time. I think that’s the frustrating thing - I’ve been waiting for a moment, a day, a space where I can just collect myself for the next project, but it doesn’t work like that. Mom told me once that shortly after I was born she asked her mother in law when she would be able to relax and the woman just looked at her, shook her head and said “it’s always like this”. The story really didn’t make that much sense to me until recently.
My time is not my own… and I think that’s part of the reason I’m looking so forward to going back to school. School is for me, not someone else. Right now I work for a company, but that work is not to expand myself, it’s not for me that I do it beyond the fact that I do it for the paycheck and I think most will agree that that’s the least important part of a job. If it’s not fulfilling as an activity then it’s just going to suck your time and your soul. I love to write, but after a long day at work my brain is essentially dead and anything I produce after then is essentially crap. My writing muscles have not seized, but my creative juices are a little dry since I’ve used all my mental energy in the day doing a good job. Everyone says “make time” and so I try on the weekends, but alloted time and my creative spark have little in common. I do better in this alloted time than I do after work, admittedly, but there is always something else to do: dishes, laundry, vacuuming, cooking, shopping, something. Even the games I play seem to be dominated by other people’s needs.
This is not to say that I don’t enjoy meeting other people’s needs. I love my family and work hard because of that to make things work. I just think that my exhaustion is catching up with me. It’s all the unknown amidst the mass of day in and day out crap. J’s arthritis is acting up to the point that I’m afraid for him - and he’s finally gone to the doctor. That’s how I know it’s bad.
Teenager is currently seeming to do quite well. She’s focussed on school, has a part time job and has just messily broken up with a boyfriend. (Honestly, I’m glad. The guy was a manipulative little…will not vent. Will not vent…)
I have caught up on my sleep now. Kind of. I was having bouts of either insomnia, or a series of vivid and exhausting dreams that would make it feel like I’d not slept at all. ‘Course, said dreams have been some excellent fodder for my tendency for fiction but I’ve yet to take many of them beyond the notes and scenes I’ve scribbled in my notebook. I’m working a bit on that today I think… after I finish with the kitchen… I can use the mindless repetition of dishes to work out a plotline.
I realise after reading some of my older entries that I seem to whine a lot. Not my intention, but it is hard to put on the brave, optimistic face twenty-four seven when I’m not really feeling it. Next weekend marks the long wait to see if I am accepted into UWO. Cross your fingers for me and/or pray to whichever gods dominate your existence and I will appreciate your positive energy. Cheers internets!
listening to: Night of the Hunter - 30 Seconds to Mars
“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.”
To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee [Attitus Finch, Chapter 11.]
