Insomnia

The following was written in Roswell, New Mexico when I had no Internet and couldn't sleep.  It is being published exactly as I wrote it with one out take because my filter wasn't on.  I would also like to point out that it doesn't always make sense because my filter wasn't on.  Welcome to another view into how my brain doesn't work.

No bars can hold me.  No prison can break me.  No mortal may hold what belongs to my God.  My spirit is immortal and my death is a portal.  For the death of oneself is the release to above. 

My goddaughters are beautiful.  Two lovelier girls have never existed.  Unfortunately for their parents, they are a lot like me.  It’s eerie.  In fact their distinctive, yet recognizable, imitation of me frequently leaves me apologizing to their parents. 

Blue eyes and brown curls

A girl like me could rule the world.

I’ve been a mess the last few weeks.  I know this could describe me frequently but my soul has been ill at ease since a day in May when I went to the hospital.  Sir had surgery for an angiogram and to put in two more stints in his heart (the current count is now four).  When he came out of surgery (several hours later than expected) my Mother and I went to visit him and my Grandmother.  Sir was but an echo of his normal self.  As he drifted in and out of consciousness he was making jokes but this was not Sir.  Sir who has always been so strong and tall and loud and obnoxious, even when going through chemotherapy, looked so weak and pale and I was frightened.  How could the world possibly go on without him? 

Pale face but red skin.

Reminds me that true beauty comes from within. 

Of all the towns we could travel to for family reunions, why’d it have to be the one known for alien landings? 

As my skins aches from the sunburn I now suffer after spending several days in New Mexico’s 110 degree weather I contemplate that perhaps I would do better to take up spelunking rather than swimming. 

Fear is the most powerful motivator. 

A prose for Dr. Rommel, my favorite Literature professor-

From the other room I hear two little boys even breathing.  They are sleeping.  I hear one little girl roll over.  She is also sleeping.  I hear my sister pull her blanket loose.  She too is sleeping.  I hear my grandmother’s dog yawn in her sleep.  Amazingly, she sleeps on.  I hear my fingers tap dance across a keyboard- impatiently waiting for insomnia to abate.  I am not asleep.  Life isn’t fair. 

In California there is an utter fascination with cowboys.  It was only upon this most recent trip that I realized that it doesn’t matter how you dress a surfer boy- his speech, wavy locks, and dimwitted stare will always betray his true nature.  And I would think, “What is this strange creature?” 

Oh little bug on the wall

How I pray you do not fall

If you should tumble before they wake

You should be aware it would be a grave mistake

On the drive from Los Angeles to Roswell a great many things entered my head as the landscape flew by out the window.  Miniature redwoods on foothills transformed to flattened desserts disturbed only by the occasional black mountain in a matter of minutes.  Saguaro cacti arranged themselves upon adobe colored hills just in time to be replaced by rolling hills of sand stone.  The occasional city would find us just before we found the painted plateaus that lead to flat lands of hardy, green grass with the occasional confused tree who was really just trying to be an overachieving piece of grass by managing to grow just taller than the shortened shrubberies.  The sky was always blue and the sun was always bright.  The road went ever forward interrupted only by the descending night.  And through it all I wondered about the atheists and the deists.  I’ve met people who have said that God’s not really there.  And if He’s even listening then it’s clear that He doesn’t care.  And through it all as I watched the changing landscape pass me by I wondered how anyone could find this land anything but beautiful- and moreover, how could anyone miss that God loved us enough to create this. 

The Most Magical Place on Earth

Every one remembers the first time they go to Disneyland... well, unless you were under the age of reckoning... like me.  Yesterday I had the pleasure of introducing one of my childhood memories to one of my mature, young adult friends.  And it was very strange because before we passed through those enchanted gates she was 22, but afterwards she was (by my best estimate) only 5.

I will admit that it was very enjoyable to share all my favorite haunts with one of my Texans friends.  We rode Star Tours three times (and finally went to Hoth and participated in one of the great Rebel vs. Alliance battles), went on Big Thunder Railroad three times, ate more sweets and popcorn than I would ever care to admit, saw a few shows and even a parade, but under pressure the most exciting moment of my trip came towards the end of the day.

I was casually sitting on Disneyland Main Street, chatting idly with Katrina about what we should get for dinner, waiting for the parade to start, when she suddenly started spazzing out.  Please note that I do not use the word "spaz" lightly and I wouldn't use it at all except there was no other word for it.  She looked like she was trying to say something but nothing was coming out.  Her arms were motioning wildly but made no sense.  Her expression was priceless but kept on fluctuating between shock, ecstasy, and jubilation.  It was at this time that I began to worry that she was having a stroke or a seizure when the words "Nathan! Nathan!" escaped her lips.  Nathan?  Nathan who?  I don't think we know any of the same Nathans.  "Nathan Fillion!"  She pointed to a spot in the crowd ten feet away where there was a tall man wearing dark shades, half blocked by a menagerie of security.  "I just saw Nathan FILLION!" she sputtered.  Oh.  I looked again, wondering if there was any correlation to her stroke symptoms and seeing stripes when in a jungle?  Sure enough, I was wrong, and Nathan Fillion was walking by.  Hmmm... cool beans.  Apparently this wasn't the desired reaction. I am now pondering the merits of looking like a fish caught on dry land and how this would better portray my thoughts, but really, it's the most magical place on earth, so why wouldn't Nathan Fillion be walking down the street?

Keys

When I was a child my Mother was forever losing her keys.  She'd tie things to them to make noise when she shook her purse, or bright colors so she could find them.  Finally she resorted to giving her older children spare sets of keys for when she, inexplicably, locked them in car (usually with some well meaning small person's help), or lost them in the house (again, we were usually to blame.)  Somehow I never managed to have my own set of keys.  I'm not sure if this is because I inherited my Mother's talent for losing things or if there were mild cases of kleptomania in my parent's house.  Then I left.  


I was already in college and had no intention of moving back after that and for a year I didn't have keys.  Sure my college dorm had locks but rather than keys we had temperamental "key cards" that still give me a headache.  And then I moved to Texas.  And I had keys again.  When I returned to Ave for my final year in college I brought my keys along with me.  I hung them on my computer bag to sparkle auspiciously and lend a pleasant klinking noise whenever I walked.  I got silly key chains- a silver dragon which was eventually replaced by a fluffy Ewok.  My spare keys still have a Lego Hermione from Harry Potter.  Those keys were my ties to a home, even though I couldn't use them.  I never told anyone but those keys made me feel needed- like I had a place to belong.  I had a home that was safe and that I could enter because I had the ability to unlock it.  


Now I am going to California and I really have no need to bring my keys with me.  My house key and mail box key would be utterly useless there and I'm not bringing my car so I really shouldn't be dragging it around with me.  I know it's silly, but this is one of the things that I am most upset about leaving.  How can something so insignificant hold you back?  The simple answer is it doesn't hold you captive like a lock would, but rather, it sets you free.