“I don’t know how to start writing about this, Oba, Iyoba. I have been silent for so long, do I even know how to make words flow again. Would that I had your determination to follow through, Oba. Would that I had your resolve to make things happen, Iyoba. I guess I have to start somewhere, so I guess I’ll just start.”Continue reading “Taking Coordinates”
I had woken often during the night, but had no anxiety about it. It’s just a thing that happens sometimes. I was more annoyed that I was likely to fall into a good sleep only five hot seconds before the alarm sounded.
The pattern of sleeping for five, wake for thirty, ended as I felt my body fully relax into deep and indulgent sleep. My body now warm and comfortable, I recognized my closed eye view of the entire room as a hallmark of hypnagogia. The four wood statues remained motionless and without light, yet my mind’s eye saw a shadow slip away from underneath them.
The fluid shadow flowed forward towards me across the top of the dresser, slipped off the dresser with ease, and moved quietly to the side of my bed where it rose and took on the form of a man who initially towered over my probe and sleeping body.
The night was not pleasant. Too many distractions built up from the week meant I didn’t recognize calls and tells until after the window for answering them had closed. My sense of disconnection deepens and I fear I have recognized my errors too late to remedy them.
All night I had dreams of a wanderer trying to come home, but home is no longer there. After many adventures, she arrives at the place where she and her friends would regularly meet, only for the place to no longer exist, her former friends are too afraid of what she has become, or be barred from entering because of the viewable changes that heralded how she survived.
All she wants to do is come home. But there is no home for her to come home to. Continue reading “Home Is Where The Coffee Is”
I’m still sorting through the stuff I brought with me during the move. Work and commute during the week left me very tired after work and the weekends never had enough hours to take care of everything, so I still have four banker boxes of old paperwork to sort through. It’s not helping that the remaining boxes also contain evidence and references to some unpleasantness that was inflicted upon me during the past decade.
Yesterday, as I prepared for leaving for work, I took a hard look at the remaining boxes taking up space and acknowledged the difficulties I was having in facing them. I turned to the Wood Statues that had the misfortune of overlooking neat stacks of documented pain. “I know y’all are supposed to have a special space set aside for ya, and that nothing ugly or unpleasant is to be in your view, but welcome to my environment. Remember, you asked to come along for this. I want this place cleaned up proper, too, but I’m having a hard time of it. If you want this space clear, you’re going to have to help me stay focused, even if that means yelling in my ear.”
As I set out for work, I was mentally creating a schedule for weekend tasks that I promptly forgot about when work does as work is and time tables go to hell. Continue reading “Help In Any Form”