With Dreams So Powerful

I woke up this morning from a dream not with a yawn or a stretch, but with tears running down my face. The dream made me angry, sad, hurt, and confused. When you have dreams as powerful as that, there's no way to avoid your emotions.

Last night, I struggled to actually sleep. I tossed and turned, awoken every hour due to pain. A customer jokingly said to me yesterday that he didn't want to live beyond forty, that it's all downhill from there. I didn't want to tell him that I haven't reached thirty yet, and my last year of my twenties has been awful health wise. This is probably why you should never joke about their being an age where things start to go wrong, because on the surface level, I look healthy. I feel healthy, mentally. That's saying something, because I battled anxiety and depression for a long time.

The dream I had right before I woke up for what felt like the tenth time was one where I was struggling to walk. All of the muscles in my back had tightened again, leaving me helpless. It was the same pain I had that made me go to the hospital, and here I was, reliving it again in a dream. I was walking on the road, determined to make it to the doctor's office, when I collapsed. It was so icy that I slid into a snowbank, freezing, cold, and angry. I started to cry as people stopped and tried to help me.

Those tears followed me into real life, along with some tension pain in my back.

I believe this is a dream about my pent up feelings. I've been putting on a show, much like Michael C. Hall's character in the first episode of Six Feet Under, which I just started watching. I've been frustrated and angry with my body, but I've also been frustrated with not being able to get proper care. I haven't voiced it. I haven't gotten angry. I've been calm and said, "Oh, you know, I'm in pain. It's cool." I've been playing it of like it's no big deal, but really, I'm screaming inside.

When I went to the ER in so much pain that I couldn't stand or sit without assistance, I was given pain killers, a shot of ibuprofen, and sat around for six hours. It's not the hospital's fault that I was one of many people who needed care that day. But I ended up leaving, getting discharged without seeing a doctor or getting X-rays. For all I know, there could still be something wrong with my spine.

Since my primary care doctor recently left my network and my health insurance is switching to a new network on January 1, there was no point in seeing a primary care doctor now to have the X-ray ordered, to bring to a new PCP in January. So I've been waiting.

And waiting on a health issue because of this sucks. We should have never privatized the healthcare system.

So yeah, I'm screaming on the inside.

I say, however, that I am mentally healthy, because I'm also keeping it together better than I did when I was younger. I'm trying to smile despite the pain. I've either been socially trained to have more poise, or I just gained it over time.

Instead of wallowing, I've been making a bullet journal, planning for the future, and getting excited about next year. I have publishing plans, I have blogging plans, I have long-term goals I'm working toward. There's plenty of awesome things on the horizon. I just need to get through a few more days, and then I can get everything properly evaluated.

While I might be screaming on the inside, I'm transferring that anger and aggression into something good. I'm creating a planner for things to come. I'm being as creative as I can be while taking my health into consideration. And at this particular moment, Munster is sitting in my lap keeping my warm. I can't possibly complain about that.

Soul Therapy Excerpt

            She shed her clothes in the hallways, after making sure that no one else was home.  Steam from the hot water of the bath slowly circled, filling the room.  She eased her breathing and pressed down on her legs.  They were still shaking furiously from the dream.  The icy feeling had stayed with her, even though the images of the thunderous sky overhead had long since disappeared.  A layer of ice formed on the window, cracked and spreading outward in fingerlike spindles.  Jess rested her fingertips on it as she waited.  It didn’t feel cold, but she did.  Her bones ached, her muscles were strained from the intense walk that she had felt.  It wasn’t real, but she felt it.  It was impossible, but it had happened.

            Her fingers ruffled through her hair one more time.  Jess tried to convince herself that she wasn’t soaking wet, that it was all a dream.  The hollow feeling that had carved itself inside of her seemed unwilling to let go.  She tested the water with her toes, then slowly lowered herself in.  The heat prickled on her skin, almost scalding hot at first.  Jess curled up in the water, feeling it floating across her skin.  Her breathing steadied further as warmth spread through the rest of her body. 

            She closed her eyes, but for a moment too long and was back in the field, staring up at an angry, darkened sky.  She pried her eyes open and gasped.  The force of her breath knocked her back into reality.  Jess stared at the running water, her hazel eyes intense, wide.  She tested her eyes, blinking for moments too long and felt herself falling into the other reality, into the dream.  Jess stretched out her legs in front of her and turned the water off.  How long could she go without sleep?  

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Slowly, I am getting better at editing.  I start to see the patterns in my own writing, and I try to pry them back.  Forcing my words, my sentences to be more open, fluid, and less repetitive.  This excites me, actually.  For once, I think the prospect of editing my work is fantastic.  Being able to recreate the flow, craft each sentence into being full and complete.  This particular descriptive passage I liked the first time around, but with one sweep of editing, I like it even more.  I still remain enthusiastic over this piece, and I hope I can find an agent out there that feels the same.

Day Six Teaser

Day Six NaNoWriMo:  So far so good.  I'm sitting pretty at 18,363 words, but that could change with the weekdays coming up.  It's a lot harder for me to find time to write when during the week.

Here's a short excerpt from my novel.  I've always wanted to use the first line in this part, I just never thought of a way to fit it in... until now.

“He’s your antagonist,” Henrietta said matter-of-factly.

“This isn’t some stupid movie, this is my life.”

Henrietta shook her head, “No, I meant. He is going to be the catalyst for some change in your life. He has to be, otherwise you two wouldn’t make a connection like that.”

“He’s just some guy in my dream, that’s all.” Jess refused to believe anything more. She couldn’t. That would be a complete test of her faith, a complete reversal of everything she had once believed. It was all too much. Though, it had been nice being able to talk to someone her own age about her anxiety. Someone that could listen without the judgment of God weighing on her shoulders.

“If you are so sure of that, child, why did you come all the way here to ask me about him?” Henrietta peered over her register. She plucked out another box of tea. “Do you still want it?”

Jess sighed. Of course she did, what other choice did she have?

Day Three Teaser

Safely settled at just over 10k words, I would say that this has been a very successful three days.  I completely a few word wars tonight with some good friends on G+.  I must say that G+ has probably changed the face of writing for me forever.  It is still a solitary act that happens entirely within me, but I can challenge myself and boost my creativity by enjoying the conversations with others that are like-minded and competing toward a similar goal.  Not to mention getting and giving advice has never felt so nice.  It's a great community, and I'm very happy to consider myself not only a writer, but a NaNo participant.

With that being said, here's the teaser from earlier today.  It's a dream sequence:

His mouth morphed, skin flicking off of it. His tongue rolled out from inside, and his jaw snapped as it dislocated. Teeth stretched out of his bloodied gums, growing into sharp knives and his eyes turned to blood lust. He growled at Jess and took a step forward, claws growing out of his shoes, his clothes disintegrated as he grew fur and grew twice the size. He took another step and reared back on his legs. Kroags launched himself at Jess, and she could almost hear the tearing of her own flesh over her high pitched scream.

Late, I'm late!

The wind ruffled the leaves in the trees. She felt herself slipping. Her eyes grew wide, sucking in the last bits of the gorgeous robin’s egg sky. The wheat melted around her skin, caving way to the bed sheets she was lying in. Her eyes shifted from seeing the blue, melding into white, then just shadows danced on the walls of her ceiling. A tear ran down her cheek as she knew she had to leave her place behind, leave what she loved.

What she loved, the thought pang in her head like an arrow. The clock, where was the clock? It was spilling out onto the floor, the contents from this morning’s not-so-great wake up. She cursed inside her head. She grabbed a jacket, didn’t even bother looking at her hair, and flew down the stairs. She glimpsed at the clock in the hallway.

Already ten minutes late, he was going to kill me. She ran to the car, jammed her key in the ignition and sped off. Every light seemed to turn red in front of her, she slapped the steering wheel and screamed at the light. Then she screamed above her head.

“This really isn’t cool, okay? Just stop it, stop messing with me today.” But she knew why the universe was. She was messing with it. She was playing inside her own head and leaving this world behind. A smile crept across her face. She realized she didn’t care if she was late. Who cares about this world, when I have my own?

She pulled her car up to the restaurant twenty five minutes late. She bounded into the dimly lit place and scanned the room. Before the hostess could say a word, Jess was off. She weaved in between tables, ducked under a waiter, and slumped down in the seat.

“I’m sorry.” Her words came out without meaning, without sympathy or worry, without concern. She couldn’t find a reason to fret over him anymore, though she really wanted to. Something was telling her it was time to let go.

“No worries.” Kevin flashed a brilliant smile that captivated the light of the candle that was almost burned out on their table. “I knew you’d make it.”

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Today's prompt is brought to you by the fabulous Nina Pelletier on G+.

"This week we are going to put your character (or yourself) in a specific situation. Your character is late, he/she's late for a very important date, no time to say "hello", "goodbye" they're late they're late they're late.
400 words or less - Show your character rushing against time."

Be sure to circle Nina to participate in any future prompts - they definitely are very fun.  

Five Sense Setting

Nina on G+ is running a writing prompt today, as she is most days.  So if you need inspiration for some exercise to do, hers tend to be fun, but also challenging (some more than others).

Today was on setting, using all five senses, less than 500 words, and no -ly words (and trying to keep adverbs to a minimum).

If you come up with one and post one yourself, please link me to it in a comment - I love reading other people's writing, and also love getting feedback :) 


Here is mine (which will eventually be apart of a longer piece): 

She stood in the meadow of wheat and stared out over the vast space before her.  A single tree stood to her right and she placed her fingertips on the bark.  The tree felt warm, as if bursting forth with life.  A small smile stretched across her face.  She felt the rough grooves of the tree, melding underneath her touch.  Her eyes reflected the yellow wheat in front of her, the sun hanging high in the sky.  For some reason, even though the whole world glowed, the sun wasn’t too bright here.

There was a single bird flying through the small breeze, chirping and carrying himself along with the patter of his wings.  The breeze ruffled the leaves in the tree before tussling through Jess’s hair.  It smelled of thick syrup and warm, fresh bread.  She could get used to this. 

Jess picked her way along the wheat.  As soon as she thought it would be perfect to have some place to sit, she walked into a clearing.  A single, fallen log was lying on the ground, untouched and perfect.  She let her feet slide her down onto the log.  It gave more than she expected, and felt like a cushion.  She placed her hands on either side of her body and felt the wood.  It was still solid underneath her fingers, but it was comfortable everywhere else. 

She looked upward, gazing at the few clouds that hung low in the sky.  They seemed to drift with the breeze.  She could almost taste them on her tongue, moist and light clouds.  She could eat one of them, balls of cotton candy just plucked from the sky.  She reached her fingers up and twisted them inside the cloud.  A piece of it broke off, coming back down to earth grasped in her hand.  She lifted it up to her mouth and smelled the sugar, the delightful mysteries that this place held.  Her lips curled around a corner.  The stickiness of melting sugar spread throughout her mouth, got caught in between her teeth, and she swallowed.  She was satisfied, she couldn’t ask for a better place than this.  It was peaceful, and she was alone… for once.

Oh Coffee, I loate you...

This is my ode to coffee.

My ode to a really, horribly sour deep brown that I used to spit out and cringe at the smell. My ode to adding in far too much sugar, natural and raw, and too much almond milk and still making the cringe when I sip through my cup.

I can drink tea plain, but not you, Coffee, no not you. You are too strong for my head, you cause swelling and pain and frustration. You smell so delicious after the flavors and sugars and creams that I feel delighted, enticed by you. But that the end of the day, you remain the same. A now milky brown liquid that has the same, devastating effect on me.

I sip you from my royal blue cup and inhale your intoxication. I swim in the magic of your caffeinated dreams for just a moment. I perk up because of you, get more intense with my words, seeking and soaking in your wisdom. It isn't you that motivates me, but it is me consuming you that keeps me going.

So my ode to you, coffee, and your horrible nature, your deadly grasp on my brain. I wish I could quit, sometimes, because of what happens to my sleep.

Sleep, my ode to sleep, my ode to dreams, my odes...

My night is spent tossing and turning, awake and yearning for the sweet caress of the sandman. I awake not once, not twice, but three times from dreams, small bumps in the night, and I'm alert. A switch got flicked on in my brain and it swells with thoughts mixed with dreams. I cannot tell if I am awake or sleeping until I realize I've been wide-awake the whole time. Eyes open, glazed over, transported to another place. Another moment where the demons come out, haunted by your touch. You've awoken them, you have, with that claw you wrap around my dreams.

Oh, Coffee, why is our relationship so tumultuous? The interesting, shadowy nightmares, the desire for more vivid an imagination, a more un-tapped deeper, darker place. You bring me there. My writer's eye is so fascinated, but my soul is shivering, alone in the corner, begging the writer to drink tea again. Stop with the coffee, she says. The writer waves her away, no, we need to see where this rabbit hole goes. And we drop further down, mixing our dreams with reality until the very essence of both are lost, wrapped up together, as one.

Yes, Coffee, I do hate you, even though I still drink you. The dreams you give me are horribly frightening, but the creative switch that it triggers is greatly enlightening.

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I know this technically isn't poetry, but I couldn't think of a better main category to stick it into. I find that this would probably be better named "slam poetry" or something of that nature. No, it isn't traditional, but yes, I am a writer, and I can break the rules (sometimes).

The Empty Page

Dazing, empty page,
Empty words, thoughtless phrases,
Pushing, rotating, drifting,
The heat of worry,
Shoved forward - what if
These are no good - what if
They do not convey
All rushing thoughts
My dreams portrayed
With all to bear,
And we move - what if
They do not say - what if
This is needed
End of the day
Dusky clouds, floating
Thoughts, roaming dreams
Curling the muse up,
How it ought to be,
This is me,
Dazing, empty pages.

To sleep, perchance to dream

If you have a queasy stomach, you probably should not read this...

Perchance to mess with reality.  But what if reality starts messing with you?

After coming home from a late day at work, I started to notice something wrong about our kitchen.  Ants, again, had crawled into our pretzels, over our crackers, found the little, tiny hole in the saltines container.  They were small, a light tan brown, that almost look like little moving crumbs.  If they weren't so easily multiplied, and if they didn't desire the same things I like (salty, savory food) maybe, just maybe, I'd be more entitled to let them live.  But when all is said and done, you have to bust out the can of ant killer, forget your morals, and protect your property from this seemingly small infestation.

What I found last night baffled me - it wasn't a seemingly small infestation anymore.  They had made homes in between the boards of our cupboards, nested on the roofs of our cabinets, and made little happy and trails all along each seam in our kitchen.  One area looked like a New York subway system.  I couldn't help but be fascinated by them for just one moment - how did they move around each other with such fluidity?  They look like such awkward creatures, but they never hit each other, even if there's 10 of them in a square centimeter.  They pass each other by with different lanes of traffic, and they know, without anyone painting down lines, how to keep their distance from each other.  So, I blasted them with ant killer and called it a day.

My dreams that night almost seemed so real, and I swear they were.  I woke up at one point wearing my necklace, and another having it off.  I take off my necklace every night, so I realized that I had awoken into a dream, but much too late.  My reality came bearing down on me - ants poured out of our cupboards, eating our food like a flock of locusts before moving onto me.  They crawled on my toes, around my ankles, and I felt itchy as they pierced and pinched my body.  The dream shifted into an even worse nightmare and I woke up again, without my necklace, and realized that I wasn't dead.  My husband was still asleep next to me, I hadn't just gotten eaten by ants and thrown off a cliff (how the cliff came into play, I could never tell you).

I walked into the bathroom, tired, sleepy, feeling a little off.  There was something pinching my eye.  It felt like I had been wearing contacts that got a little sliver of dirt pressed underneath them.  I looked into the mirror, staring into my red, puffy right eye.  A few veins were prominently heading towards my cornea, the red part of my eye was huge, inflamed.  And at the center of it all, on the farthest possible right hand side, was a little crumb.  No, not a crumb.  An ant, coiled around itself, dead.  I flushed my eye with water, doused it with saline solution, I put re-wetting drops in it, and not a thing dislodged this crumb.  I have to be dreaming, I told myself, this has to be a dream.  I used a cotton swab and swiped at it, my eye stung more and the coiled little sugar ant didn't move.  Finally, I washed my fingertips in saline solution and used my fingernails on my eye.  I scratched lightly at the surface.  The ant, in his last effort to stay alive, had attached himself to my eyeball in a little, piercing bite.  Was this my punishment for killing their colony?  For massive ant genocide?  Was there really even karma for that?  Did ants have karma?  Hot, frustrated tears rolled down my face - I pleaded with the ant inside my head, please, please just come out...

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Yes, this actually happened to me last night - yes, it was horrible.  I went into a hysterical panic, started crying, woke up my poor, sleep-deprived husband, and it finally came out on its own - mostly because of all the frustrated tears.  It was the smallest, little thing I've seen before - but anyone that wears contacts knows what it feels like to have something underneath them - and yes, it hurts.

Drawn into the World

Reflections of the world

Through dreamy, starry eyes

You’d have it all

The brilliancy of naivety

The things that stand unknown

The beauty of anew

Reflected in those blues

Dreams may never be seen

Nights to sleep in peace

Catchers drift and sway

Watching over you

Chase the pointing away

Replace fingers with words

Describe the world as is

Categorize, learn, assume

Draw the wrong conclusions,

Your eyes have changed

The color no long reflects

But holds emotions, unseen.

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I'm really hoping that you got this without me explaining it - because the way I see it, words should speak to you with your own assumptions of the world.  No professor can teach what an author writes, because so many things can become changed - askew to what the reader's view of the world is.  I'm always open to discussing my work - but unless someone asks, I'll let this piece stand as is.