It was odd, as it usually is in dreams… I didn't really know where I was, but seemed to know where to find things I needed. I saw that there was another door and a window, looking out onto an area that seemed to be someone’s driveway. I knew it wasn't my own, and ran out to see that he was being placed into someone’s vehicle. Oh, an officer then, I supposed, and cautiously walked over to the car.
I asked what he had done, why he was being taken away, and the officer turned around. Needless to say, I didn't expect the officer to look like myself! It was such a shock to my system that instead of waiting for an answer I turned away. The officer, who I suppose didn't notice my surprise, proceeded to tell me that he had stolen a vehicle and had been driving like a madman until he had reached this destination. That, in fact, he had crashed his stolen merchandise into the nearby fence in his haste to get to the door. The officer said that they finally caught up to him and would have to remove him from the area before he could hurt anyone else. That his recklessness had already caused some damage on his way to ME....
I couldn’t believe it (and certainly started to wonder just how much of this could be real) and asked him why he had done this. He looked up at me, from the back of the car then, so dejected and disappointed, and said that he didn’t know what else to do. He felt like there was no other way.
I knew this was crazy! It had to be! There was no way he would ever have acted this way in real life. I mean, come on! Steal someone else’s car; drive like a maniac, crash it into a fence, just to see me? Unreal. I realized then that I must have certainly been dreaming. I woke up, slightly startled that I had been dreaming of him again, after having put him out of my thoughts so long ago. But, something lingered from that dream. It could have been the way I have been feeling as of late. Forlorn, slightly depressed, but it manifested itself in a strange way. It may have been to show me that my feelings for him are dangerous, that if I continue to have them I basically am waiting for that perpetual “car wreck”, and that thinking that he would act against his nature of using people and being used by people is probably a fruitless act.
Maybe one day I will know just what the dream was trying to tell me. Perhaps by thinking through it I have figured it out on my own, knowing that the greater distance I put between myself and him would be better for me in the long run. I guess its better that way for him, too. After all, if he felt anything for me, he would have said so by now. I don’t think he ever will. He might mention how funny it was that he knew someone once who thought he really cared, then laugh. Or he may never mention me at all. But for now I will settle for a good coffee, let it be my morning wake up call, and put this onto paper and out of my thoughts.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Moral of the Story, Part Deux... and cont.
It was so foggy and hazy that I can barely recall all that had occurred, but I must write this down lest I forget it entirely and regret not having done so from the beginning. I feel the need to do this surely due to my own conscience and nagging sense of guilt, of my own actions, of my past; but also, in part of emotions I have been unable to express out loud. Perhaps the need to take account of the things I had done is pushing me to write in earnest after not having written for a long period. After all, the mere poems and expressions I have scribbled within the past few years have been nothing but a passing fancy, something to keep me busy on days that I needed to pick up a pen and paper. Maybe, though I think this is more likely the truth, it is my inability to express my feelings to and distrust of any one particular person that caused them to come to bear. Regardless, I must act upon the lot before I lose the courage to do so and once again retract into my former shell.
The Dream....
I found myself looking through the stained glass door, wondering what I was actually seeing on the other side of it. It was odd; I hadn’t seen a door of this kind in a very long time, and yet I remembered it so vividly it seemed as if only yesterday that I had. It never occurred to me that I was dreaming… I only wished to look through the glass with such a hope that I felt like weeping. It was almost as if I knew what I would see, but could not see it with my eyes. I could only feel the necessity to gaze intently.
When I could see through portions of that glass at last, that thing I had yearned to see and had been unable to clearly was a man, and I was at once shocked and elated. I realized whom it must be, that he had come to find me, to be with me; that he could sense that I had longed for him and finally had come. I could feel all those old emotions coming to bear; the intensity of it was overwhelming. It fluxed through my body, coursing through me quite literally from the roots of my scalp to the tips of my toes and landing squarely in the middle of my chest. I saw him there and could not move for fear that he would disappear from sight. He attempted to move closer to the door and opened it slightly, yet he could not see or reach me. Someone was holding him back from outside, just out of sight of my place inside this invisible room and would not let him go.
I tried to speak with him and found at first that all that came from me was a mutter. A mere murmur. He looked up at me and, seeing that he had at last reached his destination, smiled. Oh, that smile. It could turn me inside out in mere moments, and all he had to do was to take one look at me with those sparkling eyes, and I was hooked. It had always been so, though I had told myself that it was his playful nature that had attracted me to him. He asked if I remembered him, if I really recalled who he was since it had been so long since I had last seen him. I nodded; that was all I could do since my throat had tightened.
He beckoned that I come closer, but somehow I could not. I don’t know why I didn’t, for truth was I wanted it so badly: I wanted to leap forwards and hold him. I needed to feel him close to me, to touch his smooth skin and feel the ridges of his tight muscles under my fingertips. I longed to taste his lips on mine, to trace the edges with the tip of my tongue until we both gasped for another fleeting instance before diving back into each other. I needed it almost as much as a flower needs the sun, stretching forth its petals in the early morning light as far as it can to have it touch every last indentation and soak up the warm feeling.
Then, I also recollected how he had acted the last time I spoke with him. These were the Bad feelings, the ones I had hoped not to remember. If only he had been more attentive after I had given him so much of myself, even if in a few brief moments hidden away from the rest of the world. I had been waiting so long to show him how I truly felt, that his friendship meant more to me than any one else’s had; and, that even if it never culminated into something more, it would be a treasured memory. That somehow, after all the things we had gone through, with and without each other, when everything was said and done, ultimately we would still consider the other to be a friend. But, oh, how he had brushed me away, carelessly and with no regard to my feelings towards him. He had refused to see me, and what was worse to speak to me again. How could I forgive him?
So yet, I told him no. I felt his disappointment and withdrawal distinctly. He was so physically upset that he looked as I felt after saying it, that the tears must surely come soon, spilling to the ground and forming lonely pools before dissipating into the concrete. I did not expect this at all; I thought for a moment when he asked me to come with him, It’s a ploy, a rouse to cause me more pain and to laugh over my need to care for him. After all, wasn’t that how he had acted after our brief intimacy? He asked me why not, and before I could answer he was yanked from my sight for a moment. I dashed forward then, and suddenly saw that whomever that someone was that had been holding him seemed to be dressed in a uniform. I didn’t know at first if it was an officer of the law, or a firefighter, or military personnel. I do recall that he frantically opposed him briefly before relenting and let himself be taken.
He had finally given in to whatever was holding him back …and I didn’t want him to go. What was I thinking? After what he had done, he could just show up again in my life, feel some remorse, and I would just forgive him? I could suppose that he had given up due to the way I had behaved, or that being taken away from my sight was due to the way I had ultimately turned him down. Either way, he was being taken away from me! It was so awful; I immediately regretted what I had said, and went to follow. I realized then, that I had been scantily dressed (oh, how embarrassing!) and rushed to get clothing on....
The Dream....
I found myself looking through the stained glass door, wondering what I was actually seeing on the other side of it. It was odd; I hadn’t seen a door of this kind in a very long time, and yet I remembered it so vividly it seemed as if only yesterday that I had. It never occurred to me that I was dreaming… I only wished to look through the glass with such a hope that I felt like weeping. It was almost as if I knew what I would see, but could not see it with my eyes. I could only feel the necessity to gaze intently.
When I could see through portions of that glass at last, that thing I had yearned to see and had been unable to clearly was a man, and I was at once shocked and elated. I realized whom it must be, that he had come to find me, to be with me; that he could sense that I had longed for him and finally had come. I could feel all those old emotions coming to bear; the intensity of it was overwhelming. It fluxed through my body, coursing through me quite literally from the roots of my scalp to the tips of my toes and landing squarely in the middle of my chest. I saw him there and could not move for fear that he would disappear from sight. He attempted to move closer to the door and opened it slightly, yet he could not see or reach me. Someone was holding him back from outside, just out of sight of my place inside this invisible room and would not let him go.
I tried to speak with him and found at first that all that came from me was a mutter. A mere murmur. He looked up at me and, seeing that he had at last reached his destination, smiled. Oh, that smile. It could turn me inside out in mere moments, and all he had to do was to take one look at me with those sparkling eyes, and I was hooked. It had always been so, though I had told myself that it was his playful nature that had attracted me to him. He asked if I remembered him, if I really recalled who he was since it had been so long since I had last seen him. I nodded; that was all I could do since my throat had tightened.
He beckoned that I come closer, but somehow I could not. I don’t know why I didn’t, for truth was I wanted it so badly: I wanted to leap forwards and hold him. I needed to feel him close to me, to touch his smooth skin and feel the ridges of his tight muscles under my fingertips. I longed to taste his lips on mine, to trace the edges with the tip of my tongue until we both gasped for another fleeting instance before diving back into each other. I needed it almost as much as a flower needs the sun, stretching forth its petals in the early morning light as far as it can to have it touch every last indentation and soak up the warm feeling.
Then, I also recollected how he had acted the last time I spoke with him. These were the Bad feelings, the ones I had hoped not to remember. If only he had been more attentive after I had given him so much of myself, even if in a few brief moments hidden away from the rest of the world. I had been waiting so long to show him how I truly felt, that his friendship meant more to me than any one else’s had; and, that even if it never culminated into something more, it would be a treasured memory. That somehow, after all the things we had gone through, with and without each other, when everything was said and done, ultimately we would still consider the other to be a friend. But, oh, how he had brushed me away, carelessly and with no regard to my feelings towards him. He had refused to see me, and what was worse to speak to me again. How could I forgive him?
So yet, I told him no. I felt his disappointment and withdrawal distinctly. He was so physically upset that he looked as I felt after saying it, that the tears must surely come soon, spilling to the ground and forming lonely pools before dissipating into the concrete. I did not expect this at all; I thought for a moment when he asked me to come with him, It’s a ploy, a rouse to cause me more pain and to laugh over my need to care for him. After all, wasn’t that how he had acted after our brief intimacy? He asked me why not, and before I could answer he was yanked from my sight for a moment. I dashed forward then, and suddenly saw that whomever that someone was that had been holding him seemed to be dressed in a uniform. I didn’t know at first if it was an officer of the law, or a firefighter, or military personnel. I do recall that he frantically opposed him briefly before relenting and let himself be taken.
He had finally given in to whatever was holding him back …and I didn’t want him to go. What was I thinking? After what he had done, he could just show up again in my life, feel some remorse, and I would just forgive him? I could suppose that he had given up due to the way I had behaved, or that being taken away from my sight was due to the way I had ultimately turned him down. Either way, he was being taken away from me! It was so awful; I immediately regretted what I had said, and went to follow. I realized then, that I had been scantily dressed (oh, how embarrassing!) and rushed to get clothing on....
Monday, September 8, 2008
The Moral of "The Story", Part 1:
There will always be writings that go unpublished in the conventional sense. Someone I know might read this and think it's about them... I've had many male friends in my lifetime, and ALL have sustained an injury at some point while I have known them (yes, all). This is the story I wrote that will be amongst those not going "public":
Dilemma Story (not official title)
Sometimes you find that you meet someone, whom you did not expect to meet, and there is a noticeably different attribute about that person. Something about them that grasps your attention and does not let go; you know that if you had not met, your life would be completely unbalanced.
Not necessarily that it would be worse, but nonetheless it would not be the same.
I know that I’m not the only one that has felt this way at some point or another. After all, with billions of people on the planet, I am sure that the idea has occurred to at least one other person. At least, I hope so or I'm screwed.
OK, when you take the time to consider there are possibilities and probabilities, actions that change outcomes, then you would understand that perhaps things happen the way it is supposed to; but, there is the "Way" the imagination perceives it should have been, which I find to be much more dangerous considering how many possibilities there are, and I have yet to find a way to change the present.
Oh, sorry... I should have warned you I was going to blather on like an impossible idiot, like most women I know. Sorry ladies, it's true: we go on and on when we get emotional, and we can't seem to stop ourselves from commiting heinous crimes against ourselves by punishing our souls with needless contempt...
Yeah… I'm sorry. That was a bit run-on and I’m sure that made about as much sense as putting a sweater on a Shetland.
Of course, we need to establish that he is a friend. Not like, "Oh, honey, call me at midnight" kind; the ever popular "Are you going to eat the last piece?" kind. I called him to let him know that I was coming over to see him. We used to do that all the time, but that was when we worked together. Seeing as we hadn't been for a long time now, I figured I would take the iniative and invite myself over. He laughed, and agreed that would be great as long as if I could find it in the kindness of my heart to agree to bring him something to drink. Maybe bring something to eat, too, that would be even better.
I had been thinking that visiting would be a good idea anyway. After all, that’s what friends do, they visit each other when they want to hang out, or when someone is sick and needs some TLC and chicken soup. This was similar, I supposed; it’s an injury. Injuries are probably worse than having the flu, especially when it could possibly involve nerve damage.
Dilemma Story (not official title)
Sometimes you find that you meet someone, whom you did not expect to meet, and there is a noticeably different attribute about that person. Something about them that grasps your attention and does not let go; you know that if you had not met, your life would be completely unbalanced.
Not necessarily that it would be worse, but nonetheless it would not be the same.
I know that I’m not the only one that has felt this way at some point or another. After all, with billions of people on the planet, I am sure that the idea has occurred to at least one other person. At least, I hope so or I'm screwed.
OK, when you take the time to consider there are possibilities and probabilities, actions that change outcomes, then you would understand that perhaps things happen the way it is supposed to; but, there is the "Way" the imagination perceives it should have been, which I find to be much more dangerous considering how many possibilities there are, and I have yet to find a way to change the present.
Oh, sorry... I should have warned you I was going to blather on like an impossible idiot, like most women I know. Sorry ladies, it's true: we go on and on when we get emotional, and we can't seem to stop ourselves from commiting heinous crimes against ourselves by punishing our souls with needless contempt...
Perhaps its all a matter of point-of-view, distorted by low-self-esteem...
Yeah… I'm sorry. That was a bit run-on and I’m sure that made about as much sense as putting a sweater on a Shetland.
Why does this have to be so complicated? Couldn't I just say that I really like someone? Is it so hard to admit that I have feelings?
Perhaps it could be that my current relationship status prevents me from being able to develop any additional outside agendas. Yes, that means "married", and I don't want to be known as a cheating wife. Oh yeah... and well, I guess it doesn't help when you like someone and they don’t feel the same. Then I guess the rest wouldn't be so bad.
Anyway, perhaps I should give some background so that my problem could be more easily explained. At least, I'll let you get to know the man I'm losing sleep over.
Anyway, perhaps I should give some background so that my problem could be more easily explained. At least, I'll let you get to know the man I'm losing sleep over.
Of course, we need to establish that he is a friend. Not like, "Oh, honey, call me at midnight" kind; the ever popular "Are you going to eat the last piece?" kind. I called him to let him know that I was coming over to see him. We used to do that all the time, but that was when we worked together. Seeing as we hadn't been for a long time now, I figured I would take the iniative and invite myself over. He laughed, and agreed that would be great as long as if I could find it in the kindness of my heart to agree to bring him something to drink. Maybe bring something to eat, too, that would be even better.
Perfect, I thought, I had anticipated his wants. Little did I know I should have taken care of mine...
He had been working a lot of hours, sweating in the sun and getting tired, so we hadn't spent time together.
He had called me earlier that week to say he had gotten injured on the job, and that he was absolutely miserable and in pain. Except for what the beer he had been drinking staved off . So naturally, I was going to be his "cheer me up": Bringer of bright smiles, jokes, and more beer. Now that we had established the title, I was on duty.
I had been thinking that visiting would be a good idea anyway. After all, that’s what friends do, they visit each other when they want to hang out, or when someone is sick and needs some TLC and chicken soup. This was similar, I supposed; it’s an injury. Injuries are probably worse than having the flu, especially when it could possibly involve nerve damage.
Yes, I definitely need to go and visit. Maybe I can bring by pizza. After all, when you sustain a back injury, it’s hard to get around. It was really a thoughtful gesture, more to make him feel better and to help speed recovery. And this has nothing to do with the fact that I was dreaming about him…
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Can I ask you some questions, Dear Bloggerdom?
Are we all alone in here? Are blogs "blase"? Are we out-of-date? Is it because no one likes to read anymore? Is my blog of no importance to anyone but to myself? Why is YouTube so addictive?
I can see the reasons behind starting something of the type, video-messaging of sorts; where instead of family and friends emailing pictures, they just set up a video and Voila! Only problem : Everybody that has a computer can possibly find and watch, for minutes and minutes of amusement, your friends and/or family acting either really boring or highly- retarded (usually the latter, and not in a disabled way, I mean just incredibly stupid.)
Either way, unless the posting is set up to block responses from EVERYONE other than said friends and family, there is also the lovely possibility of having comments from not-very-nice-at-all people displayed for everyone to see, like macabre captions under a very under-budgeted B Movie. No thank you.
Yes, I know what you might say ,"But Caro, there are really great vids on there that may never get a chance to be viewed publicly if not for sites that allow anyone to post." Great! No prob! Who am I to argue with "Tunak,Tunak Tune" , and the one with the incredibly flexy boy kicking himself in the head? Hilarious! All I am trying to get across is the idea of someone in another state, or (heavens) in the same town, seeing me try to cheer up a buddy while acting a fool on the Internet does not appeal to me.
And knowing my luck, I would probably not be funny until I do something to lose my balance (as usual), fall over myself, and land either smack on my face or flat on my bottom. Totally not on cue.
Wait, didn't I just see that on there yesterday?
I can see the reasons behind starting something of the type, video-messaging of sorts; where instead of family and friends emailing pictures, they just set up a video and Voila! Only problem : Everybody that has a computer can possibly find and watch, for minutes and minutes of amusement, your friends and/or family acting either really boring or highly- retarded (usually the latter, and not in a disabled way, I mean just incredibly stupid.)
Either way, unless the posting is set up to block responses from EVERYONE other than said friends and family, there is also the lovely possibility of having comments from not-very-nice-at-all people displayed for everyone to see, like macabre captions under a very under-budgeted B Movie. No thank you.
Yes, I know what you might say ,"But Caro, there are really great vids on there that may never get a chance to be viewed publicly if not for sites that allow anyone to post." Great! No prob! Who am I to argue with "Tunak,Tunak Tune" , and the one with the incredibly flexy boy kicking himself in the head? Hilarious! All I am trying to get across is the idea of someone in another state, or (heavens) in the same town, seeing me try to cheer up a buddy while acting a fool on the Internet does not appeal to me.
And knowing my luck, I would probably not be funny until I do something to lose my balance (as usual), fall over myself, and land either smack on my face or flat on my bottom. Totally not on cue.
Wait, didn't I just see that on there yesterday?
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Yeah we took that picture.
Yes, it's a real picture we took. Isn't it pretty? Don't let her tell you she took it. She might have seen it, said "ooh" and "aah" at it, but WE took the picture. We love digital cameras. Aah.
Oh good she's not looking...
We have some things to confess. First, Caro is a strange person. Sure she's sweet, bubbly sometimes- when she isn't feeling down and irritable- but strange. Even so, she is ours and we must rectify some things before they get completely out of hand. In this case, our hands.
At times, we are so busy we haven't a moment to rest, let alone think about it (despite our lack of a cerebellum). With getting her up, brushing teeth, combing hair, making coffee, getting her dressed, getting jammed into doors (more than once in a while), typing up reports, feeding her, getting chewed on in meetings (will our nails EVER grow out again?)... (sigh- if we could), we never truly get a moment of rest.
When we are not busy with her idea of work, she wanders around her house sometimes, muttering to herself and thinking aloud. She waves us around, as if we are at fault in all things lost, when in fact we only purposely lose a few things on occasion to give her reason to wring us and wonder if she is losing her mind.
We must confess, as her Wandering fingers, that we feel kinda bad, cause we think she is, and it's kinda our fault. We have had our reasons to remain quiet before (the most obvious of course, being that we haven't a mouth to speak with), but maybe it's time we started writing for ourselves.
She likes to think herself a writer sometimes. Pfft. She wouldn't get anywhere without us! But do we even get a half-heartfelt praise for our part? No. Not one bit. Sure we are washed, she has the decency to wash us (else we should reach up and smack her) but we are ignored if she is tired, or worn out, and we haven't had a decent manicure in ages. We have had to wash dishes, scrub the tub, sweep the floors, cook the food, and take out the garbage...Did we mention our nails?
We would just like a bit of recognition. That's all. A bit of the soft touch of slightly-rose scented lotion rubbed on our poor, dry knuckles would be a nice start. Or , ooh ooh, perhaps one of those Lovely Hand-Held Hand Massagers... that would be downright gracious. Perhaps she'll even take us to the parlor and ... well, we shall just have to wait and see and not get our hopes up too high. We can only really hope that she sees this post and understands it is a cry, nay, plea that she start giving us some attention... and not the final push (by our own hands nonetheless!) into insanity. Unless, as we suspect, she is already there, in which case, we are the only sane ones left,...(puppet-like hand sigh).
At times, we are so busy we haven't a moment to rest, let alone think about it (despite our lack of a cerebellum). With getting her up, brushing teeth, combing hair, making coffee, getting her dressed, getting jammed into doors (more than once in a while), typing up reports, feeding her, getting chewed on in meetings (will our nails EVER grow out again?)... (sigh- if we could), we never truly get a moment of rest.
When we are not busy with her idea of work, she wanders around her house sometimes, muttering to herself and thinking aloud. She waves us around, as if we are at fault in all things lost, when in fact we only purposely lose a few things on occasion to give her reason to wring us and wonder if she is losing her mind.
We must confess, as her Wandering fingers, that we feel kinda bad, cause we think she is, and it's kinda our fault. We have had our reasons to remain quiet before (the most obvious of course, being that we haven't a mouth to speak with), but maybe it's time we started writing for ourselves.
She likes to think herself a writer sometimes. Pfft. She wouldn't get anywhere without us! But do we even get a half-heartfelt praise for our part? No. Not one bit. Sure we are washed, she has the decency to wash us (else we should reach up and smack her) but we are ignored if she is tired, or worn out, and we haven't had a decent manicure in ages. We have had to wash dishes, scrub the tub, sweep the floors, cook the food, and take out the garbage...Did we mention our nails?
We would just like a bit of recognition. That's all. A bit of the soft touch of slightly-rose scented lotion rubbed on our poor, dry knuckles would be a nice start. Or , ooh ooh, perhaps one of those Lovely Hand-Held Hand Massagers... that would be downright gracious. Perhaps she'll even take us to the parlor and ... well, we shall just have to wait and see and not get our hopes up too high. We can only really hope that she sees this post and understands it is a cry, nay, plea that she start giving us some attention... and not the final push (by our own hands nonetheless!) into insanity. Unless, as we suspect, she is already there, in which case, we are the only sane ones left,...(puppet-like hand sigh).
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