Dream Journal, 2005

Had a dream last night with Erica in it.  Yesterday (in real life) I replied to her email.  It was probably a nicer email than I should have sent, but I didn't know what else to do--too chicken to do otherwise, I guess.  

In the dream Erica was incredibly needy/demanding, and didn't want me to have any other friends.   Every time I tried to play with other kids, Erica would get jealous and interfere.  The other kids were afraid of her and I was too but I tried to be nice to her to keep the peace; so I mostly just played with the other kids when she wasn't around.  

However, I had to stay in a room with her—she had this big bed, and I slept in a tiny futon bed shoved in a narrow little spot.  She'd decorated the room with loads of fake stupid stuff about how much we loved each other and how close we were.  It was all very artificial and stifling and annoying and freaky in a stalker-ish sort of way.  She only backed off once when my mom's husband told her that I had a right to play with other kids.  But once he was gone she started following me everywhere again.  The last thing I remember is running down some stairs, trying to get away from her.  It’s like she was obsessed.  Very creepy.

Journal, May 29, 2000

A car length away from entering my zone
until I fell through the open door

Journal, January 31, 2006

My memory is a song I tried to forget.

But the words haunted me, the melody always on my lips.  I tried to learn a new song to block out the old but the noise in my head became cacophonous. Slowly I had to let each false note drop - until all that was left was the same sad song I could not erase.

It was a song I could not sing but needed to whisper instead.  A song that would not let me sleep but invaded my dreams.  A song I could not change but needed to hear in all of its tragic wistfulness.

My memory is a song I wanted to forget.  Except for the part of me that refused to believe in the forced, out of tune harmonies that passed for beauty.  Theirs was a song full of violent ugliness, tears I had promised myself never to shed.

This is my song, and I refuse to forget.

Journal, March 16, 2004

Please be with me.  Please help me not to be afraid or resentful.  Please help me to accept where I am while at the same time never losing sight of hope.  Please help me to be grateful for what I have.  Please help me to see beauty when all seems so ugly.  Please never abandon me.

I knew Jane wouldn't fix me in one week.  But I was somehow still hoping it would happen anyway.

I think this sucks.

Journal, September 2006

Bits of stories that seep through the cracks of the doors - bits of stories I cannot in this reality ignore - will be lost forever - will be another lesson learned

Bits of stories do you see how I wanted to love them - why I now must betray them - like lava flow that rolls into the sea - this eruption must wash over me

Where does reality draw the line - fingernails against the skin - tells me which reality I am in...

The end of days

All of the followers had gone, sucked up into the girl’s funnel cloud and carried off to god knows where.  What remained lay on the ground, broken.  The restaurant would not be serving again.

I was wondering with a pang of regret where Marietta had gone when a dishevelled figure with a lopsided purple hairdo and an old face limped over to me.  The cruelty in her expression had now become mingled with resentment.  We just stood and looked at each other for a while, until she said, “You think you have won.  But the spell is broken for you, too.”

“I know,” I answered.  “But at least I can live with myself.”

“We’ll see about that,” she replied.  She then disappeared, rather against her will, I thought, into a cloud of foul-smelling smoke.

Waking up

They say riddles are clues

but clues in a fortress

If only the dragon would let me pass

Ah little girl, he says

you must solve the first riddle

to prove you are ready

I ask him what the first riddle is

and he laughs

He says that is why I am not ready

I cannot even hear the riddle

He says I know the words

He says no one stops my ears

but me

He says the riddle is my first clue

That I will hear it when I am ready

I say this is another trick

another stall

But he says no

he is the master of ceremonies only

I am in charge

I will know the riddle when I say it out loud