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
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 have been thinking about this a lot. I know I can survive. I just don’t feel like it sometimes. My life has been in chaos mode for a while now and I feel like I am just on the edge of survival. But I do know one of the keys to my survival is to just keep swimming. It may seem juvenile to take my life advice from a blue fish in an old movie, but here I am doing it.
I think about the cats when I think of survival. The cats, all five of them, belong to the neighborhood. My house is just their dining room table. They at one time depended on the goodness of my neighbor across the street. She was a nice lady who was tragically killed in a car wreck last summer. Her two children survived the accident. Survival to them is much different. They probably feel a great deal of grief having survived and their mother losing her life on that highway. Survival meant coming home to the father they were trying to get away from and depending upon grandparents to survive. I feel so humbled when I worry about my own survival compared to theirs. I’m going to be lonely for sure, but the people I love are still alive, just being housed somewhere away from me.
The cats survive because they don’t care where they sleep or stay. They truly only see me when it comes to food and I oblige. Their survival depends on me I suppose. And I depend upon them.
I will survive. I know this its just going to take time and patience. I want this chapter in my life to be over already but I have to live through it. And I know I can. I just wish this grief and loneliness would erase itself.
Everything contained on this minute
Is nothing more than the universe
In a drop of rain.
Just a small planet in this galaxy
In a drop of rain.
All of yesterday and tomorrow
In a drop of rain
On a blade of grass
Why do I write? I write because I am lonely. I wasn’t always lonely it comes in waves. The last four years I haven’t been lonely, but I know I will be lonely. My companion is going away for a while. Say that in a hushed tone. He’s being forced to leave. Its not by my choice. So I know that the next five to twenty years will be lonely. Who knows what is in store for me?
But I know I have myself to keep company and writing is one way to do that. Its comforting to get thoughts on paper and screen and to feel them exiting my body. Some people turn to alcohol and drugs to get that sensation but I don’t do either. I just try swimming one stroke at a time until my feet can reach the shore. I tell myself that is how I am going to get over this tragedy, one step at a time, one moment at a time. But now I am not that sure.
But I have this outlet, I have my words. I can write about my journey. I can write about the things I love. I love my bird feeders. Currently I have a woodpecker treat bar, 2 suet cakes and 2 seed feeders. I love watching the birds on my porch as I sit in the living room. There is something about those innocent creatures finding all that they need in the world. They never worry about money. They never worry about being alone. Somehow they scrape by and manage. I will too.
I’m going to use this blog to express myself creatively. I hate introductions like this because it seems to be the antithesis of my name. Its not really genuine, you know. I just want a place where I can write and since no one really reads my blog anyway, its a place to unwind. This is going to be a cruel summer and I need a place to store all those feelings. So try not to get your shoes to dirty wading in all the stuff I am going to put on this blog. Have fun tripping around in my nonsense.