Last night I had the most amazing dream. I dreamed I was wearing a red fuzzy coat and my mother (who has passed away 10 years) asked me to ask the gentleman down the hall to come into the room. I went to get him and it was a 30 year old George Harrison complete with beard and long hair. I was amazed. He entered the room and immediately I recognized that the rest of the Beatles were in the room. He cried and hugged John Lennon and suddenly I was running out of the room which was a recording studio and down a long hallway full of people. But I could see myself and my red jacket.
I got to the end of the hallway and sitting on a stage was a 17 year old George Harrison strumming a guitar.I told him who I was and that I was from the future.I told him to please promise me that he would go see John in June of 1980 and to warn him that in December he would be shot. I kept telling him to promise me he would. I told him that he would know I was telling the truth because Ronald Regan the actor would be running for President. I told George that he was truly intelligent and that he should get into meditation to which he replied that he was thinking about that. He asked me what was going to happen to him and I told him that he would get cancer and die but not to worry that he had a son that looked exactly like him and that people would find comfort in that. He got up and started to leave and I again made him promise to visit John in June of 1980 and to warn him. I told him that history wasn’t written in stone and he replied “No its written in rock n roll.”. Which I thought was pretty clever.
Sad thing is I have had multiple dreams in which I have tried to warn John who refuses to believe me that he is going to get shot and in one dream he even said “I promise I will go out that night and nothing will happen.” He did go out that night and he still got shot.
If only time travel truly worked that way. That we could go in a dream and warn others and they would listen. Thanks for reading this post.
Today I decided to go on a mini adventure and go to my local library. Our library is in a historic building downtown. The outside of the building is absolutely gorgeous with stone work and a beautiful manicured lawn. The library also is richly appointed on the inside.
Today though the library had a special table with an urgent plea. The books on the table were newish but for some reason were not checked out enough so they could soon be discontinued for lack of circulation. I understand this all too well. Sometimes I feel like I am not circulated enough, what would happen if someone decided to discontinue me? I felt sorry for the books on the table so I grabbed one. The book appealed to me because it featured a character with morbid obesity. As someone who is now only by the grace of God just under the characterization of morbid obesity, I was naturally curious.
This is the debut work of David Whitehouse. Obviously a Brit from his use of Mum and Dad. I thought I would read the book and give my feelings on the book.
The novel is narrated by the protagonists younger brother and I’m already 76 pages in and I still don’t know the narrator’s name. The protagonist Malcolm over shadows his brother so much to the point that he is nameless. Malcolm as a child and up to age 13 has a history of mental outburst that frequently result in Malcolm completely disrobing in public. The irony is that Malcolm now 45 weighs “100 stone” roughly 1,000 pounds. he is no longer able to wear anything other than bed clothes and sheets. He has become so obese his skin has fused to the bed. Malcolm can’t leave the house unless the house were torn apart by the beams. His family (his parents and younger brother) know that the only way he is leaving is after death in pieces.
My feelings: In November of 1999 I had my stomach stapled. I was near 400lbs when I made the decision to have the surgery. I was told by my doctor the surgery would be risky so I lost 50lbs on my own. Still at 24 I was 350lbs. Malcolm’s life was a looming possibility for me. I had never had a boyfriend. And while I lived on my own my health was terrible so I was just one major illness from living at home. I too suffered from mental problems but I was unable to get help because my weight was masking my mental issues. So I can easily relate to Malcolm. u
I also can relate to the narrator. He reminds me of how my brother and sister must have felt being around me when I was at my craziest. I had mood swings and I was abusive. When I was younger I had Malcolm’s confidence, now I feel like the little brother.
Writer comments: The author is wearing me out with the metaphoric comparisons. I generally read James Patterson and other thriller writers so I don’t really enjoy all the flowery language. It almost emasculates the male narrator, which is ironic because the older brother Malcolm has become sexless due to his rapidly increasing girth. Like I said earlier, I am only 76 pages in so I’m going to give this book more time.
Here is a link to a good review https://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/jul/22/bed-david-whitehouse-first-review
There is nothing like the beauty of a good storm. I was actually hoping for one today. I watched in anticipation as the clouds began to over take the sky. The wind started moving the trees, first a graceful ballet then an elaborate salsa. But as soon as it began it was gone. A few random claps of thunder, a brief flash and it was gone. Such is the course of my life these days.
In my mind I have all the makings of a good storm. Anger and confusion have been blending with depression. The churning of my daily emotions is capped by a lack of willpower. My self is delaying me much like the lid on a pressure cooker. I explode in a furious binge of sugar and carbs, my drugs of choice. I eat and eat in hopes of silencing my self doubt. But nothing seems to fix my problems. It’s like the storm today. A lot of build up but no satisfaction.
I’m doing my best to learn to love new technology but my old age is showing. I’m 40 and I remember all too well the birth of the Internet. I was in college in 1993 when someone introduced me to ISCA. The Iowa state Computer Association. It was my ticket to a new world. I was able just using words to meet strangers all over the world. It was nothing like Facebook. I could talk and flirt with strangers!!!!
And now on this IPad I can’t even type. I hate this. I feel like I’m struggling for each and every word. I miss my keys! The click and the give of each key as it snapped so witty under my God like fingers. And the numbers and symbols aren’t in the same places and I wonder if this is how my grandparents felt when they were given new things?
I remember how my Pepaw loved technology. Anything new he wanted to have. He bought a microwave when the average cost of a microwave was $275. He just had to have one! At first it was just good for melting butter and heating up honey buns but soon the world caught up to the microwave. I could have bought a microwave for $30 last Christmas. It’s crazy.
Meanwhile I can’t stand this new app culture we live in. I really have no clue how to read Twitter. It’s so damn confusing. And snapchat? What is that like I need more temporary pictures of crap. Viral indeed. I would be able to type three times as fast if I didn’t have some moron suggesting words for me. Do I sound like a grumpy old man? Well good people should hear the anger in my voice! How is Snap Chat fun? Really.
Autocorrect pisses me off! You know what we did for autocorrect in the 90’s? You had your smart friend sign up for computer time with you in the computer lab and made said smartfriend sit next to you and correct your mistakes as you made them. Too many mistakes, you got grateful that you had such a smart friend or you punched them in the face. I can’t count the number of fist fights that occurred in the computer lab in the 90’s.
Meanwhile I have a cramp in my fingers cause I have to type on the onscreen keyboard on my lap otherwise I can’t see the keys, but thank God for bifocals. Yes, I’m 40 and I wear bifocals! I could do without but then the keyboard would be at arms length and I wouldn’t be able to reach it to type. I did not sign up for this!
And the constant noise in my knees. I know that’s not technology related but it sounds like someone opening an ice tray every time I try to stand up. What’s up with that? It’s like Rice Krispies on steroids. And the old lady hormones? I’m going to just kick young women when they complain about PMS.
So today I’m feeling old #oldagesucks
My heart’s not ready to let you go. If it were I’d tell you so.
I’d pack your things and tell you no, but my hearts not ready to let you go.
They are going to take you away from me. If only they knew , if only they could see.
I need you right here to take care of me but they are going to take you away from me.
My hearts not ready can’t you see? My heart won’t let your memory be.
My hearts not ready but it’s a choice I don’t make.
My hearts not ready and it’s more than I can take.
I love watching the birds. Currently on my porch I have 3 suet feeders, 2 loose bird seed feeders and one woodpecker treat bar. There is something about watching them fly stealithily up to the feeder and eat the seed. But this summer so far I only have five or six birds. And they are tiny nuthatches that eat the larger seed.
Last year I got into bird feeding while Paul was in the mental hospital. The birds became a connection to the world that I desperately needed. When I was a little girl my mom and I had a special connection with birds. There was a particular bird song that would happen at our house. It was our special bird and we listened to it in the mornings. Then our world fell apart. My mom found out she was pregnant and it was a high risk pregnancy. Then our house foreclosed. We were forced to move to a much smaller rent house. What gave us comfort in those hard times was hearing our bird song. We moved across town and sure enough we heard the same song! I know now it’s a cardinal song and as I’ve grown older I’ve drawn some comfort from hearing that distinctive song in the early mornings. It’s as if my mom were still talking to me. Its a reminder that no matter how bad things seem there is still something good in this world.
So far only one Cardinal is eating at my feeders. Maybe one is all I need.
My soulmate my love
You are going to leave me alone.
I’m going to wait for you until there is no more.
Today , tomorrow, a million years from now I will be there hungering and yearning for you.
Will you be here for me? Will time heal or hurt?
Don’t change me.
I need glasses to read. I didn’t always need glasses. When I was 21 I was diagnosed with a congenital birth defect in my right eye. I had always had spotty vision out of that eye but no eye doctor would believe me. When I was in third grade my parents took me to an eye doctor and I explained that sometimes the letters looked weird but I knew what they were. For example capital A’s looked like upside down V’s. I knew they were A’s but still I had a hole in my vision. He accused me of just wanting glasses. My parents were embarrassed. But at 21 a doctor saw the hole in my eye and validated my experiences with vision.
But now I have tunnel vision. I can only see the tragedy in my current situation. It makes me focus on the sad, lonely times I am going to experience and blocks any goodness. I wish it weren’t this way but it is. I can only see what I don’t want to see.
I worry about the future. My mind and my heart seem to be telling me that I can make it. But I just seem to want to focus in on my problems and see only my deficits. Will I have enough money? Will I be able to fill the lonely hours alone? What happens to me when I can’t carry on? I need to look away. Its like a train wreck and my vision won’t allow me to focus on anything else.