Saturday, May 29, 2010

The House is Quiet...

...for the first time in a while I'm by myself. And there's a bunch of stuff I SHOULD be doing, but I've done absolutely nothing. But then again, it IS the Sabbath, and when I was a kid I did nothing on this day anyhow. I guess the body gets used to things like that, even though we think we've given them up. My body, my psyche, is used to being quiet on Saturday, and even though I've gotten out of the habit mentally, my body remembers.

Cuz I'm tired and don't feel like doing much.

It was a draining week, mentally. A lot of talking. A lot of thinking. Maybe because it was full moon this week... but folks' issues were really draining to me. Every conversation was weighted with their own backstories. And sometimes that stuff rolls off me but somehow this week I felt like I was under a wet blanket.

Someone posted a quote on FB the other day, about how when something disturbs you about someone else, it's because it reminds you of something that disturbs you about yourself. Because you wouldn't know it to recognize it otherwise. I've been mulling over that the past few days but I'm too tired and drained to make any sense of it. But I do wonder... cuz the same could be said for things that attract you to someone.

And I'm only wondering about all this because twice this week I've had people tell me of a strong dislike for a person, based on assumptions they've made about someone. But the thing is... the assumptions were wrong. AND the people talking actually have things in common with each other. It's not that I think they'd like each other, nor do I care that they do or not. It was more that the arrogance of the assumption annoyed me, an unwillingness to look beyond the assumption to "read" the person underneath. And all folks in the equation equally flawed, hiding their white-hot core with arms folded, sharp words or attitude, weight or make up or fancy clothes.

We're all the same underneath. Some of us think we're sophisticated by admitting to it; we say it but not many of us REALLY live our lives assuming that we are all the same underneath. Humans are relentlessly unforgiving of others... mainly because we are unforgiving of ourselves.

It's enough to make me want to hide on a beach in the sun, just me and the kid... People are just too draining...

Oh wait, I already do... it's why I like living out here... far from everyone. Only the ones who love me and love themselves enough to love me make the trek out here, to sit in my quiet.


I should be cleaning my apartment, not musing. I'm by myself. I should be useful... churchbells are ringing and dusk is approaching... but Lord knows I just feel like going to sleep...

Saturday, May 22, 2010

I Had A Dream...

early this morning in which I had cornered the Scrub someplace and told him exactly why I was pissed off at him. Why he hurt me. In the dream, I told him I realized I was not so special to him. That what he'd done to me, he'd done to people in his life more important to him than me. I knew that my pain didn't make me special.

In my dream I could sense his distance, that me telling him these things was really only to my benefit; that it wouldn't make him go "Oh, I get it and I'm sorry" and MEAN it, and more importantly it wouldn't change his life or the way he did things.

And then I woke up... realizing that I had been in a VERY deep sleep, awaking into full consciousness the way you come up for air after diving in a cold pool.

The contrast between the crispness of my dream and the reality of my undersea blue room and my double bed and the BigMan snoring softly beside me was arresting. I didn't want to go back to sleep to finish the dream... the dream had been completed as I awoke... which is unusual.

I didn't wake up crying. I didn't wake up ashamed of dreaming of him with BigMan next to me.

I did have a mild feeling of annoyance that this still bothers me, but then it changed to curiosity... why now, two years later? Why so clear? A lot of times dreams are metaphors for other things in your life... you wake up from a dream full of symbolism (like the dream I had about the dead fish tank) but knowing vaguely what the dream is about. And when I have those dreams I sift through the symbolism to figure out what my subconscious is telling me. But this was different. There were no vague messages. It was very clearly me, and very clearly him in a space (white, ironically) and me telling him in my own everyday words in my own voice what I had to say.

Most interestingly, I didn't wake up with a need to make the dream a reality. I still see the Scrub frequently and have pretty much stopped acknowledging his presence except where absolutely necessary. There is no animosity on my part; I just decided he no longer deserved to live in my world.

The only thing I can think of that would have triggered it is that I came home from dropping the kid off from school yesterday. It was an interesting morning filled with interesting conversations in which people's own issues were playing into situations that affect other people. I had three different, equally draining conversations with people in which their own issues so clearly figured into the shit that was going on with them that by the time I came home I was drained.

I'd met BigMan on the train ride home (he'd done an IT job downtown) and when we came back to the house, well, we had an interlude. Which is unusual for us just because most times we sit here in my living/work room, backs to each other, doing our own thing. I told him I loved him, and he asked me why... and I told him "because you're my friend. A real friend." My ride-or-die... He hugged me and told me that most people didn't really appreciate the true meaning of "friend." And very briefly and mostly subconsciously I remembered that what had hurt me most about the Scrub was that I had thought we could be friends. And then I didn't think about that or him the rest of the day. And wouldn't have remembered that thought if I hadn't had the dream.

But BigMan is what I had been looking for, my ride-or-die, my groundwire. The Sun and I presented him with a key to the apartment the other day, and he actually blushed. And hasn't left the apartment to go home since... wow... no posts for a month and then two in a day...


There's just so much going on. And I'm not writing for lack of shit to say... just lack of time. My time being taken up with the Sun and his various musical activities, BigMan, the Fam, my own disorganization...

Overall, I'm happy. Fat and happy and my heel spurs hurt like hell. But I'm broker than I was the last time I complained. In fact, the landlord's son knocked on my door today, and I showed him my turn-off notice from Con Ed to prove to him that I wasn't dodging just him.

However, I'm going to Peru this summer; it's official. Now I just need to raise the $1,000 to get my kid there. I'm excited though... I'm going to photo-document the Speaking In Rhythms Percussion Ensemble's Syncopated Peru project. We're going to Chincha, Peru, where African rhythms have traveled their via slavery, and 11 kids who have been studying Peruvian rhythms with the Ensemble will visit and learn. And it just occurred to me to put a Paypal button on this blog to help raise funds... maybe I'll do that in a day or two.

Of course when I get back I'm quite sure I'll be homeless...

Either that or the lights will be off. Shit is serious.

I love my BigMan. He makes me bellylaugh. And he can walk into a room and "see" the same stories I see. Which is so amazingly cool. The other day I took him someplace and out of the blue he started telling stories about the people there... and he was right. I happened to know the back-stories and his perception just made me all gooey.

Cuz now I know for certain I'm not making stuff up. I mean I'd figured out that I could "see" things, but I wondered if I was the only one who saw it so clearly. He said people wear their stories all over their body, which is a funny way of putting it. And the thing is... I don't think most people would peg him as the type to see things like that... but I think it's what makes him a good photographer. And a great photo retoucher, cuz he hides the flaws that people hate about themselves.

Me... I don't hide the flaws. I think the flaws are what makes people fascinate me. I don't think "flaws" are anything to be ashamed of. But of course most people don't see it that way. And I guess too that's why he's a commercial photographer and I'm an artistic one...

but anyway.

That's my one deep thought for the day. I could sit and write about the multitude of stuff going on in my life and the things I've been "seeing" lately but then this post would get long, and would take me days to finish instead of the two it took me to finish this one... and the next time I sat to write I'd be afraid of the time it takes to distill everything... so I'll stop writing now and come back tomorrow...