The Usual Suspects

Crime is the rage, the latest fad, a new trend.  It is the new black.  Depending on who you listen to, it is either a direct response to societal ills or is an instant builder of ”street cred”. Exacerbated by illicit drug use and short fuses, one cannot escape crime.  Weeks ago, there was a huge racket outside of my apartment building at like, five in the morning or so.  Someone had broken into a local bar and it seemed that an employee wanted to call attention to himself by announcing the break-in on his cellular phone (close enough for me to unfortunately hear).  I heard, “they escaped through the side-entrance!  I’m not going in there, there’s a mess everywhere” and other epithets that I’m sure the entire neighborhood could hear.  Ah, the cell phone: one of the best and most annoying inventions known to man.  So try as I might, I couldn’t catch up on my beauty rest.  Nuts.

Why Am I Having Such Stupid Dreams?

Sigmund Freud had cornered a market with his dream analysis and subliminal thematic dissection of the subconscious mind.  But I wonder what good ole Sigmund would think of my dreamscapes: cinematic marvels that often go on in technicolor all while I’m far away in REM sleep.  Anyone who’s heard my elaborately detailed dreams would tell you that it could put the most attentive person into a catatonic state.  At every turn, there’s some kind of detail which I flag as some sort of undeniable symbolism and away we go into No Man’s Land.

So the latest dream I had involved a shoe store.  I’m wandering around this shoe store and all of a sudden, I find the perfect pair of shite shoes.  Excitedly, I pick up the box and declare that I want to buy these perfect shoes.  But I am distracted by a pair of sneakers and just as I turn back around to  find the white shoes, I notice someone swipe the shoes I wanted and escape out the store.  I angrily shout out: “Hey, those are my shoes!!!” And I get an attendant who seems to not notice what the heck I’m going on about.  I turn to anyone in the store who’ll hear me and say, “That was the most perfect pair and I wanted them and I can’t believe someone just stole my shoes!!”  But no one seems to be moved or acknowledge me in any way.  I feel dejected and annoyed.

Does anyone really need to have annoying dreams like this?  I mean really.  It’s not bad enough that someone can grab the last pair of shoes in real life but why in the world would one carry that kind of bad luck into the subconscious realm?  Isn’t dream life supposed to be fantasy and perfect in every way?  Shouldn’t dreams be on your side?  Seriously.  So yeah.  But forget that.  What followed was another completely frightening portal into the mind.

Sting, the singer is dressed like a metal-head leather-clad freak.  In the dream, he is instructing someone on how to instill fear in a human being.  He goes in front of a dilapidated chalkboard and squeaks in white chalk the word: RATS.  Then, Sting begins to warn the guy he’s instructing that if the guy was weak, to not go into the next room.  The horrors in the next room apparently would be too much for any faint of heart.  I step aside in the dream and say something like, “I don’t want to see this.”  Then, the dream starts to play like a movie that I have successfully paused.  The person I’m with–who’s off-camera–says that it only gets worse from that scene on so it’s a good thing that I decided not to continue.

Okay, now here I have to say…what the f**k??  Why in the world would my mind conjure up such strangeness?  Most of the time, I can easily decipher my dreams but lately, they get more detailed and convoluted than they ever were before.  And so I leave it to you, my viewing public.  What in the hell is my mind manifesting?  Is there some sort of message I’m missing?  Am I going nuts?  Why is Sting in my dreams?

I’m interested in seeing what you’re twisted minds come up with.  I dare ya…

A Lot and Not A Lot Have Happened

It was a good break.  Breathing time and time to every purpose under Heaven.  But I really gotta get this one out:  I ended the feud…again.  Imagine it like holding onto a stuffed animal far longer that you know you should.  It’s moldy, it’s dirty, it’s dusty but you still hold onto it for dear life hoping that it will offer some solace, some respite.  Then one day, you realize that something’s gotta give.  That’s the way these past few weeks have been.  I keep on holding tight to my values, my morals, my ideals even when they prove to be far more detrimental than they should be, than they need to be.  So I decided that I would cast that nighted color off and look as if a friend on Jersey.  Or, that is if Shakespeare lived here as I do. 

As Enigo Montoya would say: Lemme ’splain–no, there is too much.  Lemme sum up

I’ve been kinda hurt by a series of events.  All of them have to do with figuring out whether it’s worth defending myself or not.  My heritage was questioned, my inter-personal relationships were troubled, and the very essence of my being was on trial.  I lingered, oh, how I did linger.  But then, I made a concerted effort to let it go.  Even though I still remain unfulfilled and cast-adrift, I no longer feel the need to explain what makes me feel this way.  At least, not to anyone but myself and Carl.  Isolation is a very interesting island to be on and sometimes I find myself spalunking in an attempt to find some meaningful understanding that exists only in my mind.  I’m too much of a control freak to allow sleeping dogs to just lie.  I’d be the one standing over the dog crying, “Wake up! Wake up!” while it barely moves a muscle to acknowledge my existence.  So there you have it: I have to lighten up. 

When In Doubt, Have Some Eats

In order to prove to myself that there were no hard feelings with myself, I decided to re-connect with some old colleagues on LinkedIn, and had a very moving lunch.  It was wonderful to meet up with two friends who were really cool and down-to-earth.  They divulged mutual feelings which reinforced for me the fact that no one is safe from boredom and disconnection these days.  I learned a lot from them and they seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say.  We ate at a local eatery and I took longer than my lunch hour (with a meal which I thought was just, ‘eh’) but the company made up for the shortcomings.  I expect way too much.  Hence, my aforementioned control issues.

Reconnection: “Check”. Forgiveness: “Check”.  Check Please: “Check”.

Since I was on the verge of serious meltdown, I realized that I had grown tired of just caring and sharing with Carl.  He seemed sympathetic but was obviously over it.  So I had nowhere to turn…except my crazy family.  What’s left of it.  So  I returned to the two broads who know me the most and not at all: my mom and my sis.  Seemed like it’d be the last place I’d turn given our erratic history but it also seems suitable because we’re so mind-numbingly different and opinionated that no one can shut us up even if they tried.  It proved to be a fruitful meeting so long as I kept the details of my life with Carl limited.  Mom was surprisingly less judgemental and Eli was well, Eli.  She has managed to become a decent driver, who doesn’t seem to fear the road as much as we fear it for her (especially when she has minor bouts with road-rage) but overall, I feel safer with her than I do with Carl so I guess it’s ok.  I haven’t yet conquered my driving phobia but maybe will change my mind now that my mom and Eli have joined the driving masses.  I think I still hold steadfast to my old fears because again, I can control those.  Did I already mention that I’m a control freak?  *ahem* 

The Three Amigas.  The Triplets.  The Majestic Mahem.  The Three Little Pigs.  Whatever you call us, we manage to stay together despite our radical differences.  I’m still surprised at how we look alike even when time and trouble have beaten us down.  Still, my Dad is never far from my thoughts and I often wish he lived closer so I could also indulge in picturesque Kodak moments with him, but well…I can’t always get what I want.  Control freak be damned!