Monday, October 8, 2012

My Teeth Are Brushed


(warning... this post is completely random and fairly disturbing... read at your own risk)


I shouldn't start a blog post at 12:30 a.m., but I didn't want another writing miscarriage on my hands.  I've already brushed my teeth and was ready to go to bed, but as I brushed, I was reading a remarkable book called The Dance by Oriah and I had some thoughts.

Let me tell you, as I was reading this book, I felt like I was reading something I wrote.  Not that the subject matter was my life, but the writing style was much like my own.  It made me feel like I was mourning my own death because I never write anymore.  And then I thought about the crazy dream I had last night... the dream that Dustin had to wake me up from because I was crying in my sleep.

So, I'm writing.  Even if it sucks and doesn't make any sense.

This is Clancy taking action.  Nonsensical action, perhaps, but action nonetheless.

In this book that I was just reading Oriah says this;

"The question is not why are we so infrequently the people we really want to be.  The question is why do we so infrequently want to be the people we really are."

This struck me in inexplicable ways.

And, though it makes no sense whatsoever with any of the context of this post, nor the title, I keep thinking of that dream and so, even though it's fairly freaky, I'm going to write about it:


I came into my basement family room where my children had erected a blanket fort.  The fort was covered in blood and inside it I found a little girl who had been stabbed.   In my house.   WHAT?!!!  

She was a beautiful little black girl and I thought she was dead.  I was freaking out and started screaming for someone to call an ambulance.  When I got closer to her, I could see that she was still alive.  She wasn't doing well though and as I examined her, I found a stab wound just below her sternum.  

This child was a stranger to me.  I didn't know who she was or how she got in my house, much less who stabbed her.    


I picked up the child, who was about 7 years old, to carry her upstairs and, in the way of dreams and how they seamlessly change in nonsensical ways, the child was suddenly a baby who was perhaps 6 months old.  I think the baby was a girl.  The baby had no clothes on, but had a white blanket wrapped around her and the wound (in the same place as the little child) was swollen and angry looking.  The baby was very lethargic.  

I saw an ambulance (of sorts... you know how dreams are) pull up in front of my house and as I ran frantically to answer the door with the babe in my arms, two stern faced and steely haired older women came in.  They invited themselves to sit on my couch and proceeded to ask me a bunch of questions that I can't remember now.  I only remember that I wanted to scream at them that I had a dying baby in my arms and that they were supposed to be helping her, not asking me a bunch of questions that didn't matter AT ALL!!!  

I was enormously frustrated and frantic.  These two women didn't even pause to look at the baby as they finished their questions and brusquely left my house as quickly as they entered it.  

There was someone else in my house with me who had called 911.  This person was not present during the steel twins' inquisition, but reappeared as they left.  I was frantic again.  As I realized the ambulance and the 'help' it was supposed to bring was leaving, I decided I had to take the baby to the hospital myself.

I don't know who this person was that was with me, but it was someone I trusted and I was somewhat comforted by their presence.  I remember feeling grateful that I wasn't alone.  


I struggled to put the baby in a car seat.  Then, I struggled to put the car seat in my car.  As I was trying to do this, I realized the baby wasn't in the car seat anymore.  I panicked!  I thought she must have fallen out when I was messing with the car seat trying to get it in the car.  I looked around screaming, "Where's the baby!" and the other person pointed to the white blanket that the baby had been wrapped in.  It was sort of under the car seat.  

As I grabbed the blanket and felt the baby inside it, I realized that the baby was very hard.  I pulled the blanket out with the baby inside it and uncovered it's face and what I held in my arms was now a hard plastic doll, all shiny and frozen in a fairly creepy way.  

The baby had died.  

In my dream I howled with grief and frustration.  I was crying and screaming and beating the car with my fists.  I was so angry at the women who came and asked me questions.  I was so angry at myself for letting them ask.  I was so angry that I didn't even know who this baby was and why it was in my house or who had stabbed it so cruelly.  As I screamed, the person who was with me (who was a woman, by the way) was trying to calm me down.  

And then, I woke up to my own sobbing and howling and Dustin touching me and telling me that everything was ok, and that it was just a dream.

It was so disturbing and frightening.  Like a horror movie.

Don't ask me why I kept feeling like I was supposed to write this out, but I obeyed.

Sorry for you.       

And, as I'm proofing this post, I can't help but notice the relationship between my last post about metaphorical miscarriages, the baby in my dream and the fact that reading this woman Oriah's writing made me feel like I was mourning my own death.

Maybe I'm the baby.  Maybe I'm also the stupid ladies asking all the wrong questions and just causing problems.  Maybe I'm everyone in my dream and it's like many aspects of myself who all seem to be in conflict with one another.

That actually makes a great deal of sense, considering my life lately.

Interesting.

And again, I'm sorry for you, the reader this insanely bizarre post.

Good night.
   

5 comments:

Rachel Chick said...

I don't think that this is at all a weird thing to write about . . . unusual, yes, but I can understand why you would want to get it out. And I think whatever answers you're mulling around in your head are probably valid. I can understand some of your feelings.

My second thought - I think it's sometimes very important to get some of the swirling thoughts in one's head OUT. I have felt, at times, that I don't want to share what's on my mind (particularly when I don't like it), but once I do (IF I do), they become tangible. So that I can actually DEAL with them.

I love you, Clancy. I hope that you are able to find the voice you are looking for to be able to write again. It will come. I know it will.

Lauren said...

I know what your dream means. Isn't it obvious?
Seven years of plenty, followed by seven years of famine.
Better stock up on pretzels dipped in chocolate!

Kristin said...

Not bizarre, but rather very thought provoking! I'm sorry that you had such a terrifying dream.

Genene said...

Ahhh, dreams! The stuff life is made of! Nice to get it written out, it's a purging of sorts isn't it.(?) I love that you thought the same way about Oriah's writing style. Maybe the timing is just "right". I feel happy you decided to write last night. Good on ya!

Travis Cody said...

That was no dream...that was a nightmare. Yeesh. And to remember so vividly...more nightmare.