Category Archives: Down the Rabbit Hole

White Limo

I had a dream about you and a white limo…

You were a passenger and the limo stopped and at each place I was there along with your friends and family.

In the beginning you looked out to us and then urged the driver forward to the next stop. Fleeing from those you love.

Your music was loud and commanding.

The next few stops you barely turned your head…you were laid back against the seat and just rolled your head to look at us and then rolled away and pushed the driver on…

Your music became frantic.

Next you reached a stop and you tried to open the door / but it was locked. You were trapped. You didn’t care though and the ride continued.

Your music is dying…we can’t hear you any more.

At the next few stops you became frantic – struggled with the latch, pounding the window, wanting out…

But it was too late…

Your music was no more…

At the last stop the door flew open and we all crashed together…

It wasn’t only your words we lost, we lost your soul…

Beware of the white limo, it will take everything from you, it will strip you of all that is right and beautiful.

It will…destroy you and everyone you love…

I may need exactly what I don’t want…

I dreamt the other night of comfort, of soft skin, of intimacy

Our shirts where shed and we laid chest to chest…

In my dream I felt something I don’t think I have ever felt in real life while touching someone, while being touched.

I was relaxed.  I was content.

I was laying skin to skin with you and it was comfortable, it was intensely intimate and it was in no way sexual.

It was finding comfort in another.

It is something I would never do in real life.  I wouldn’t lie relaxed in that way.  I wouldn’t feel intimacy.  I wouldn’t feel comfort.

I have never understood touching without intent.  And intent is sexual.

So my dream is something that would never happen in real life.

It is nothing but a dream.

And I wonder if my soul yearns for that unknown…

My Dark Side

I have demons. I have a dark side.

I think when I let that out – when I express it in any way – with a post – with a poem – with my own words – that people get scared.

The thing is – I’m happy. I’m grateful. I’m blessed with a family and a job, a house over my head and food…and I am blessed enough to be able to,
on occasion, meet our wants as well as our needs.

But my demons live close to the surface. I think we all have those demons – negative thoughts, insecurity, shame. People try to hide it all – paint the perfect picture. And there is nothing wrong with NOT wanting to lay yourself out…

But I do – I don’t do it when I should – I don’t open up and share and purge all the bad things in the moment…but I find my way…I let them out with some words of my own, with a poem that punches me in the gut, with music that tears me down and builds me up.

I’m so far from perfect – but I try…too be good.

By letting my demons live so close to me – I see the power – in me…and in you. Because I accept them – that darkness – I am always working on making sure they don’t cause damage. And I learn every day – new lessons – how to keep it at bay so I don’t hurt others.

You worry about me? And I get that because I give my demons way too much attention.

I worry about you too…because you don’t give your demons any attention at all…

New Doctor Warning

Girls all around will agree that meeting a new Gynecologist is stressful but apparently having a mild breakdown during your first visit helps tons.

So I am sitting on the exam table and I don’t know if it is because I have something my mind is working through that I am not ready to be aware of, or if I my minding is chewing on something and I am not ready to accept it yet or if it is because my son had a bad morning leaving me a bit frazzled.

But whatever it is/was, my quirks were real close to the surface.

The walls of all of the exam rooms have whimsical paintings and I don’t normally pay much attention to them but this one was really throwing me into a fit.

The base looked like it should be a tree but the limbs looked more like many vines all wound together. The leaves looked like something you would see on a fern and there were large clusters of berries hanging from various places.

There were 161 leaves and 131 berries spread out over 7 clusters. Odd numbers abound and I am getting increasingly agitated the longer I sit and stare at the piece.

I am particularly troubled by the leaf to berry ratio.

I basically went from kicking around in the shallows to treading water in the deep end pretty quickly.

By the time the doctor arrives my foot is swinging, my fingers are drumming on my knee and I am rocking back and forth.

Apparently he said my name multiple times before I responded and as I tore my eyes away from the offensive wall and look at him with his outstretched hand I lost all social graces and any sense of normalcy.

Instead of shaking his hand and introducing myself I looked at him and said, “I don’t like your wall.”

One of his perfectly shaped eyebrows popped up and my eyes darted back to the wall, my nose scrunched up in obvious distaste and I met his eyes again and said “At all.”

He brought his hand up to his mouth and he was clearly trying to hide a smile – I say clearly because seconds later he burst out laughing.

I really didn’t think it was that funny – at the time. And I am almost positive you aren’t supposed to laugh at people who are clearly struggling to tread water in the deep end of the pool.

Me: The leaf to berry ratio is troubling. 161 leaves and 131 berries.

He turned to face the wall and then panned slowly around the room.

Doctor: 210 leaves.
Me: No. 161.
Doctor: There are 49 leaves over on this wall.
Me: Those don’t count. They are a different type of leaf entirely and the limb over there isn’t in any way connected to the “thing” over there.
Doctor: I see.

And then I got my shit together.

Me: I’m Myla. It is nice to meet you.
Doctor: Like wise.

Then he paused and considered me for a moment.

Doctor: Fortunately you won’t spend a lot of time looking at the wall…

And that is when the nurse burst out laughing.

Doctor: Shall we begin?

And, well, I laughed also because beginning meant – you know – lying back and I found myself staring at a blessedly plain ceiling.

And right there – in the midst of my mini meltdown I managed to bond with my new doctor.

1 Corinthians 13

1 Corinthians 13:
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When Ibecame a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

How many people did I lose? Still here? On we go…

I want to focus here on this part:
When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.

Many of you know that my son is 9 and currently working through 4th grade. He has brought home quite a few biographies over the last couple months focusing on those involved in the Civil Rights Movement. He was particularly excitable when reading about Rosa Parks. I picked him up one afternoon and quietly listened for close to an hour while he railed about the injustice of her experiences. I agreed and quietly nodded along, keeping eye contact and giving him my full attention. When he gets riled up it is truly something amazing but that is another topic for another rabbit hole.

As he was winding down he commented on how he was just glad that kind of thing didn’t happen anymore.

And my only thought was wouldn’t it, indeed, be nice if that kind of thing didn’t happen anymore.

I am not speaking specifically about any particular event in Rosa Park’s life but in more general terms.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we didn’t have that kind of discrimination and intolerance in general?

Now he seemed to be calming and I really did hate to burst his bubble but – well – that is exactly how much I suck.

So I asked him – Would you be surprised to hear that the kind of discrimination inflicted on Rosa Parks still exists today? It has a slightly different feel and target but it still exists.

His eyes went wide and he cried out an incredulous “Seriously?”

I really do suck. He looked at me like…I had just kicked a puppy or stolen candy from a baby. He looked shocked and a little outraged…and maybe a little hurt. He was mad about how Rosa Park’s was treated but he finished the book thinking all was right with the world. That kind of thing didn’t happen anymore. And then Mom came along and shattered all of his recent illusions. I brought a little bit of harsh reality into his cozy little world.

I smiled a little sadly. I told him it was a big talk for another day.

We sat quietly for a few minutes, both of us thinking…

And then I asked him “What is marriage to you?”

I know. I know. I suck. He was really still trying to calm himself down from his rant and I could see his eyes had lost focus and he was thinking intently about something. But I was curious Ok?

His little brow furrowed and his mouth worked soundlessly for a minute while he seriously contemplated my question and formed his response.

“It’s a union, wait…no…well yes but also a commitment….made by people who love each other so much that they want to be locked together forever.” There was a significant pause and then he snickered a little and then mumbled “Ball and chain” and then laughed a little harder then sighed and his eyes lost focus again as he stared out the window.

My point? You should know better, I rarely have one.

Right. Sometimes I wish that we didn’t leave the ways of childhood behind. How perfect is that explanation of marriage?

In my child’s eyes discrimination in any way is wrong. Hurting someone with your words is wrong. Treating people poorly for any reason is wrong.

It is so simple.

It wouldn’t take much to change this though.

What if…I had made a comment against the Civil Rights Movement?

Would he still think it was good or would he file my negativity away to be used on his own at a later time.

What if…I had made a comment about marriage only being between a man and a woman?

Would his definition of marriage change? He made no such distinction.

Violent dreams

So I apparently have violent nightmares. I don’t remember them but to be fair I don’t remember the good ones either. But since I apparently scream out in terror and wake up my husband I know for a fact that I have these nightmares and I guess given the constant crying out of “help” and “no” and “stop” it is probably best that I don’t remember them. After years my husband has mostly stopped worrying about them. In the beginning he would pepper me with questions. Is something one my mind? Am I worried about something? Did something happen during the day I was upset about? No. No. And No. So now he simply comments on the fact that I “got kind of vocal” last night. (I know some of you went to the gutter with that last comment so I will give you a minute to drag yourselves back out)

Alright, back with me? Great.

Apparently last night was one of those nights. I got vocal.

The funny thing is that when I woke up this morning I was chipper, happy as can be….for no reason whatsoever. Now you have to understand that my default state isn’t happy. I seem to be in a near constant state of comfortable uncomfortableness, what others might describe as agitated, and I am Ok with that. I am a hopeful pessimist. I see the good in people, but expect the worst. I am painfully shy and a introvert. If I wasn’t married with a child I would certainly be a recluse. So, me waking up chipper? Seriously freaks me out. The world must have stopped spinning or the axis shifted or the sun didn’t rise. Something is seriously @#$@# up.

Ok, back on topic…kind of…

Now I also have days that I wake up and I am angry. I don’t have an explanation. Nothing happened the previous day. I didn’t go to bed angry. I didn’t have any nightmares – at least none that I was “vocal” about. But for some inexplicable reason I am angry. At myself. At you. At the world. So on those days I take a deep breath and close my eyes and then I recall each gift in my life. Another deep breath and I offer up thanks for all those gifts, for my life. Another deep breath and I open my eyes and face the day in a different state of mind. Am I still angry? Maybe. But I am moving forward with all the good front and center in my mind so how can I possibly stay angry for long.

So here is the thing. Why, oh why, on the morning after a violent dream do I wake up happy and other days I wake up angry? Makes you really think about how much power our sub conscience has…

If you are at this point and you are wondering about the point of this painfully long post. Sorry. There isn’t one. And really – the post started with “Down the rabbit hole”. You kind of have to assume random and meaningless….right?