Light and Darkness

Pregnant

I woke crying from a dream this morning.

I was impregnated by him and he was absolutely pissed with me for getting knocked up. It was obvious that he wasn't wanting responsibility for me or the child; and he was trying to convince me in a mean and menacing tone that I should abort the baby.

At the same time, my mother was criticizing me for allowing myself to get pregnant stating that I couldn't even take care of one kid so how was I going to be fit to raise another. I was told that I was irresponsible as a mother.

I was at work and trying to make a good decision for the child and even had myself convinced an abortion would be the right thing to do since I SUCK under no uncertain terms as every one was telling me. My belly was slightly swollen with child and I was cradling it in my hands trying to protect it from everyone including myself.

Then the worries that I would be out of work with noone to care for me if I had the baby so I would be without money and eventually out of a job; but the few people at work were ecstatic for me.

I was almost convinced that an abortion would be the best thing for the baby since she would have me for a mother. I was already ruining one child's life. But the entire time, I was trying to convince everyone that it was a good decision to let the baby live. I was trying to sway the man who supposedly loved me and I loved so much. Trying to convince my mother...and even Emma, who was on the fray of the dream but who I could tell was unhappy with my state.

I was the only one in the dream who felt the baby was important and beautiful and made with love but I felt selfish for wanting her to live because it would inconvenience every one else.

Good Morning

Distorted the original image to reflect my lack of coherent thoughts when first waking up. I would have named this "Wake me up before you go-go" but I'm already having problems getting that damn Wham song out of my head.

Blast from My Past

I graduated from the local high school in Millington. I had only gone there one year and one month so I was a bit of an outsider there...let's face it. I was a bit of an outsider at every freakin school I went to.

Anyhoo. My senior year at ol' MCHS I had home room with this guy. I also had Play Production and did some theatre with him. Edwin.

Can I just say that I had a wee bit of a crush on Edwin? Unfortunately, Edwin had a girlfriend, and a serious girlfriend at that. But, I sure did have a bit of the ol' nudge nudge for him. He made play practice go so much better. Great conversations up there on the fake third floor of the set for Arsenic and Old Lace. He was Jonathan Brewster and I was his Dr. Einstein.

So....tonight on my damn MySpace (DAMN YOU, MYSPACE! I will NEVER be your whore!) I was greeted by a request from him to add him as a friend.

Wow! Talk about a better way to end the evening.

Matrix Nae

Life's Death

My neighbor is dying. She's seventy-eight years old and has cancer that is eating away at every healthy part of her body. It was found in her lymph nodes months ago. There's nothing else the doctors can do for her. They've tried chemotherapy and it's only made her weaker.

Her son has asked me several times to go in and sit with her. I always made promises to do so. And I was going to but could never bring myself to do it. I don't know why. I could use the excuse of having too much to do (which I've told him time and time again). I could even blame this one on the old man dying. But honestly, I don't know why I didn't.

I was caught by the son today walking back from the little convenient store at the start of our street. Gave all the same sentences on why I hadn't been by yet. And then he said it. "Since you're up, why don't you go see her now."

You can't say no to that, can you?

I sat with Marjorie. Held her hand. Talked about what's been going on with her body over the last months.

Have you ever asked a dying person if they're afraid to die? She's not. She said the only thing she's afraid of....the only thing she thinks of is her son. She's afraid to leave him. What will become of him, she wonders.

You never stop being a parent. Even when your kid is fifty-four years old and changing you because you have a colostomy bag taped to your stomach. You are still Mama. Your child will forever look like that babe first placed in your arms years before, needing you and clinging to you out of fear and helplessness. And no amount of reassurance that your child will be alright can appease that nagging parental instinct to protect your baby from sadness or pain or longing or mournful goodbyes.

She's in a lot of pain. Eats little. She spoke of her death and the expense of burial. She's sad because she can't be buried although she has a plot. She's going to be cremated. She's lost forty pounds since she got sick and her frailty is so evident. Her skin is soft yet very telling of her dying.

I wanted to run out of sadness and recognition of my own father's death and touching his body. I had kissed him on his bald head like I had when he was alive. There were tender moments between him and me. Silly moments too. So, sitting there on Marjorie's bed and holding her hand scared me.

Yet, I felt I had to be her confessor and listen to her talk about her children, her son who was alive and who was at that moment,mowing the yard and her other son who had died years earlier. I listened to the wisdom that we seem to only get before we die. This revelation that sometimes we waste our lives worrying about the insignificant instead of living a brilliant life and taking chances. Why does the lightbulb come on when we're at death's door? She had bitterness in her voice about a fight she had with her sister months ago before she found out she was sick. And she couldn't even remember what the fight was about, but she wasn't going to call her and make amends. She spoke about her childhood in Louisiana and being a poor teenager trying to have good clothes so she wouldn't be picked on.

She laid in her bed, the bed that would serve as her boat to cross the River Styx, and she spoke of a life. A woman lays dying next door and none of us know her, yet she is the most important person. She added to this world. The ripples of her presence are invisible. She didn't change the world of politics with her tiny self. She didn't write a great novel. She lived her life as best as she could, as hard as she could and now is concluding it. She is each of us at the end of our days, still hoping for life. Still wanting to get out of bed and be healthy. Still needing to make sure our loved ones are safe. Still wanting to exist. She's leaving every amazement she's grown used to and fond of over the last seventy years. She's leaving behind life and facing the inevitable and the unknown.

And she's not scared?

Other Side of the World by KT Tunstall

Over the sea and far away
She's waiting like an Iceberg
Waiting to change,
But she's cold inside
She wants to be like the water,

All the muscles tighten in her face
Buries her soul in one embrace
They're one and the same
Just like water

Then the fire fades away
But most of everyday
Is full of tired excuses
But it's too hard to say
I wish it were simple
But we give up easily
You're close enough to see that
You're.... the other side of the world to me

On comes the panic light
Holding on with fingers
and feelings alike
But the time has come
To move along

Then the fire fades away
But most of everyday
Is full of tired excuses
But it's too hard to say
I wish it were simple
But we give up easily
You're close enough to see that
You're.... the other side of the world                    

Can you help me?
Can you let me go
And can you still love me
When you can't see me anymore

Then the fire fades away
most of everyday
Is full of tired excuses
But it's too hard to say
I wish it were simple
But we give up easily
You're close enough to see that
You're.... the other side of the world
Ohh.... the other side of the world
You're.... the other side of the world
To me.

An Offering

Nightmare last night that was absolutely dreadful. I was riding a rollercoaster at an amusement park with my pop and having a gay ol' time. I remember the sensations of the loopty loops. I recall the fear from the climb before the first drop. The rush of air against my face felt as real as imagined could be. I was enjoying the time with my father.

But when I had gotten off the rollercoaster, I realized that I had had that time because of an offering. I had lost little Emma in the park. She vanished during the time I spent on the coaster. I had been careless and had disregarded her needs. I searched the park which had hundreds of little booths and side attractions. I think other people were helping me look, but I woke up because I couldn't stand that feeling that she was lost forever.

Eh. Horrible, horrible dream.

I know what I'm trying to tell myself. "Stop being so goddamned selfish with my life and fears and boo-hoos from the past. GET THE FUCK OVER ALL THAT because I'm going to lose Em with all my bloody shit."

Yeah. Succint.

...

You know. Eh, forget it. Almost let loose the thoughts in my head again. Not an easy river to tread.

Question: How does one actually get the name out there in the publishing world? I can only think of the obvious things like doing a byline piece for a rag or such, but I'm thinking that I may not be so hot at that....not really sure.

But the poet scenes? What about those? Any suggestions?

Am going to post another poem in a moment. Can I just say that I think that my muse is suicidal? I mean she's just a wailing away in the emo poetry with me. I really need to write some happy crap. Believe it or not, I'm really not always sad and blah. Can't tell with the trite shit I put here, can we?

AGGGHHHHH!

I want to draw or paint or throw some clay. Friend Angela said I could use her wheel but since the school year just started, I don't want to bother her whilst she and the family are adjusting to the schedule. One of the reasons, I didn't tell her about Glass Eye this weekend (other was just wanting to be alone).

...

changing subjects

...

I read my child's journal again. I think I've admitted that I will do this periodically while she is in my home....ESPECIALLY since she went through that bout of depression before the school year. In reading her journal, I discovered that she had been reading mine. I'm not entirely upset about it. I did sneak about my parents' room when I was a teen and did read the letters my pop wrote my mom when he was overseas. So, I can't be mad. I should lock them away if I don't want her snooping.

I am more embarrassed than angry. She mentioned a couple of bits she had read about me that I am now too shy to admit. But that again....nothing really upsetting. What does leave a heaviness on my heart is her mention of my moping about and 'whining' on about The One. She was downright mean about me. That and almost calling me a whore.

I am my mother. Every day I see the Mrs. Devine things that upset and formed me as a child....in me. Now, Mom and I get along so much better now. I swear, my father's death instantly changed her approach with Em and me. And the need to make things different between her and me over has done wonders with my personality over the last couple of years. But, is Em going to despise me that much? And do I deserve it? Did my mother deserve it?

Geez.

...

changing subjects again

...

It's time to be done with The One. I've tried to contact him. I've tried pleading my case. I've tried making amends. He will not respond. I want to be vengeful but won't. I want to say horrible things to him to make him feel guilty but won't. They are momentary fits of disappointment, anger, and sadness and only show how immature, emotional and catty I can be. And he's not deserving of that. I will not reference him aloud again. It's obvious it does no good and the primary players in this little drama have grown tired of me.

If by chance, Angus....you are reading this. I loved you with every bit that was me. In earnest, I pray to whatever God is that you find your happiness. That you live a life of beauty and wonderment. Despite what you may think or anyone else, you are the most wonderful man I've known in my life. You inspired me to be a better human, friend, mother, lover....Naomi. I can only hope that you don't look with dread at what we were and that I don't simply become a regrettable anecdote in your life. I love you.

...and that's that.

Praise

I went to the Glass Eye Poets last night. Read, of course.

Each time I go I have to build the courage up in order to read. So many talented people out there in this world. Listening to the poets and musicians, I get scared and shameful about my stuff. But I read anyway.

The rest of the gang are always nice. We clap and cheer and whistle for everyone. So much praise and support for everyone and from everyone. Definitely the place to be to urge you on with your creative endeavors.

This time I read a couple of poems including a new one I wrote last month. Then I read a chapter from a story I had started a year ago.

...no surprise, they all loved it. BUT everyone loves everything. It's a nice feeling though even if it's niceties or out of obligation.

Eck! I wish I were a sincerely talented, creative person.

How do you say Linky Love in Italian?

New renter today: We have My Life in Italy with Ann. She teaches English as a second language, is married to an Italian, and just received her Italian citizenship (congratulations, Ann). She's here for a week so give her some Linky Love and spread the word that she's on the net.