depth is relative
I just woke up from a dream I’m calling putting together what I no longer want. The majority of the dream takes place in an ex-friend’s home. I’m dealing with a kid she decided to raise, who shoots salted sprinklers inside her house. My husband Fred and I are trying to maintain the situation, waiting for my ex-friend to return home from her new marriage.
What’s interesting is that we are no longer friends in waking life. She divorced her second husband two years ago, and found a third husband who lives in another state. She doesn’t want to continue our friendship. Apparently, I am part of past memories she wants to forget. Continue reading “Putting Together What I No Longer Want” »
“Never write anything on paper because it can be used against you,” Mom warned me as a child. I was twelve when my sixth grade teacher told me to start writing a journal. She gave us little blue lined notebooks and time to write in them each day. I was prepared to lie about my life. I really wanted to write my truth, however, so I wrote about what was going on at home, booze, loss, blood and heartbreak. My dad was an alcoholic and soon went to a hospital, and his brother committed suicide because he couldn’t stop drinking. We lived in a periodically insane alcoholic world of never knowing when things would explode. I felt mortified every time I thought about Dad’s recent black out and how he drunkenly fell down at the local pool shredding his elbow. I overheard a woman call me ‘the drunk man’s daughter’ and I never wanted to return to the pool or take another breath on this planet.
I have been throwing an axe for years.
