What To Do

It's been a while since I last posted a dream blog. I've been dreaming all the while, but just not writing about them. Since I moved to the Westside in August I've hit a lull in my creativity. Anyway, last night I dreamt that I broke up with my fiance. He had not done anything terribly wrong, but I was frustrated with his lack of communication skills and his inability to romance me. This revelation and decision was spurned when he left for work without even so much as a goodbye. As he walked away I shouted his name and he turned around. I said, "You and I need to talk." He slowly walked back to me and lethargically said, "What?" Without hesitation I told him that I had decided to leave him. He didn't take me seriously. In fact he chuckled, "Of course, you won't leave me." His reaction frustrated me further.

As I gathered the strength and words to convince him of my earnest choice my mom came up to me with teary eyes and reached out to me. I said, "Mom, I can't talk to you right now. I'm sorry that you are upset, but I need to take care of my own problems." She blinked back her tears and walked away.

Anger burned in my chest as I turned around and faced his lifeless eyes. All he cared about was himself. How could I spend the rest of my life with someone so self-centered? The irony was I had turned my very own distressed mother away to communicate with him. She deserved more than that.

I woke up this morning still burning with that frustration perhaps due to a conversation my fiance and I had last night about Thanksgiving this year. As it turned out we had to pick one of our families to spend the day with. We chose his because it made the most sense since we will be flying up to Portland to celebrate Christmas with my family this year. I had to call my mom to tell her that we would not be joining them on Thursday. I know that it is the right choice, but it still made me feel bad. When I told him how I felt, he just stared back at me blankly. There was no compassion for my guilt just a nonchalant "OK". His reaction reminded me of his lack of comforting skills. Sometimes his stoicism makes me feel unloved and apprehensive about our future together. He does not always react the way he did last night, but when he does it is like a dagger in my chest.

Tubes of Smoke

Last night I dreamt that I went home to Tujunga. The hills were still on fire and I could smell smoke in the air. I let myself into the house and walked to my room: the room I was born in, the room I keep returning to. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around. My mother was standing there talking to me, but I could barely hear her. She sounded like she was under water. Minutes passed as I looked at her and tried desperately to decipher her words by reading her lips when my father appeared in the doorway. He tried to talk to me, too. He realized quickly that I could not understand him either, so impatiently he pointed in my direction. I looked behind me, but nothing was there. Then I returned my gaze on the both of them and they both nodded "no" and then pointed directly at my chest. When I looked down everything finally registered: all over my body tubes were sticking out. Shocked and terrified, I immediately started ripping them out of my body. The tubes crashed to the ground splashing my bodily goo all over my old bed. I wanted to cry and scream, but no tears nor words came out. I looked at my parents pleadingly. They returned my gaze with compassionate frowns and then coerced me to sit on the bed. Smoke started to fill the room in huge plumes and I just laid there waiting for the flames to find me and take me away.

Metal Mood

They were lined up out back pacing with needles propped in their hands. Quick tugs on the rubber bands around their chubby arms, the prick, and then the plunge of skinny metal into their veins. I watched the rotund mannish women's eyes roll back into their heads in unison and I cringed. I tried to look away to the palm trees piercing the plumes of smokey clouds in the night sky. All I could think was "Los Angeles".

I closed my eyes as the wind kissed my cheeks. When my eyes sprung open again I saw my aunt talking about dying as she was living. Apparently, her last hospital visit tipped over her usual confidence and she couldn't help but wonder when her last hand would be dealt. This made me sad and so I left without a response.

In the room that followed my friend was sitting on a bench and beckoned me to sit beside him. Something made me hesitate or rather someone else's voice made me turn around. My old roommate was standing a few feet away. My stomach lurched. I blinked and she was still there, so I said her name and even though my feelings were not clear I apologized to her. She tried to force a smile. I tried to as well. She began to talk in order to fill in the gap of silence that lived between us. I wished for ear plugs.

She yammered on and I tuned her out and focused on my sense of smell. I smelled Europe: the mixture of time, diesel, cheese, cappuccino, and aged water. As the shadows stretched the scents were sent more body. I breathed in and coughed. Soon I was strolling alongside a canal and pondering the nuances of communication through silence.

By myself into the unknown I felt trepidation and exhilaration. Outside of my dream realm I still feel this way and often wonder "What is a life well lived? Should apologies, drugs, and the concept of death come together in one night? Should they penetrate so deep that the heart has no option, but to pump faster?".

Man of My Dreams

In the library we met. You were handsome and brooding. Your face was like a child's, but sexy. I leaned in closer for a better look and you kissed me with lips only a dream could provide. Feelings of giddiness bounced back into me. I fell in love that moment and you smiled at me. You were golden and I was light. Moments passed and then she tapped me on my shoulder.

"Paloma? Paloma, I am not sure whether they told you or not, but your librarian test is tomorrow."

My librairian test is tomorrow? I'm a librarian? When did this happen?

My beautiful friends gathered around me and slyly dumped pens covered in answers in front of me and whispered, "Write these down and memorize them." I started writing in secret.

My father appeared and told me get my things together and come home with him. Everything went blurry except you. You I could look at forever. I could forget the answers to tests, that I need to eat, and even what my name is. With you I felt blissful.

I woke up this morning early and you became a figment of my imagination. You became the man that I will only know in my dreams. I could be sad, but today I still feel in love. Even if you don't exist in reality at least you do in my dreams.

We Can Go

The dreams are still spinning on couches and the bed in my birth room. In them my bags are packed, but my heart is not. It still is confused and excited. The trip beckons with bright lights illuminating oceans views, ancient architecture, fine art, delicious food, and laughing comrades. In these slumbers beauty dances with anxiety. Will the world and it's gorgeous mutations inspire and distract me long enough to heal and be polished into a gorgeous stone? I'm still here rough and needing a bit of tumbling somewhere new and old at the same time. My other self "The Traveller" commands me now.

Be Patient While He Hurts Me

"Be patient", she said and let him rob me of my self-worth, again?! I'm starting to believe that there is no use in trying anymore. I give up! I'll let go and let my body float down stream alone weaving side to side without a direction. I'm lost and I'm hurt... so deeply hurt. I'm tired of feeling this way.

Just There and Maybe Here

I saw you and you in my dream last night. We argued. We hurt each other's feelings. I woke up in the middle of the night and despite other people sleeping soundly in the house I couldn't shake my lonely feeling. I walked to the bathroom in a sickened state: rushing and lumbering at the same time. My insides felt like they were being yanked out and I knew (even then) that my emotions were to blame.

From one moment to the next my coping abilities change from warrior to fallen soldier and back again. What IS happens to be the result of choices I make. I can either dwell on circumstances I can't alter now or try to be positive and resilient. It's tough not falling back into negative patterns of behavior and thinking, but I must. Sometimes I wish that there was someone special to hold my hand and kiss my cheek and say, "Paloma, you are awesome! I love you and I will be here whenever you need me."