“Only I never wish to get up in the morning”
-(Dorothy) L. Frank Baum, Ozma of Oz
“I’ve heard that sometimes a version of you must die before another more enlightened version can be born. I think that’s true after watching the corpse of myself walk around.”
-Julie Flygare, Wide Awake and Dreaming: A Memoir
When I have moments that I sincerely laugh or enjoy, it seems unnatural. As quickly as I recognize what is happening, I tend to be stricken with a bit of fear. It is likely another testament of how difficult it is for me to let go. I had a few of those moments last night and was able to allow them to happen. Then came sleep. And, that sleep actually came. I usually dread the night because I toss and turn - instead of counting sheep, I count sins and regrets. I actually have this horrible practice of recounting every horrible thing I’ve done that I’m able to recall from birth on. (I’d be a great textbook case, huh?).
A beautiful storm rolled throughout the night and played its part in my restful night that would have normally been plagued with nightmares of the beloved with her entourage of friends and lovers. These ridiculous dreams usually include me in a situation that involves a crisis or heavy manual labor while said crew observe, laugh at, and mock me. It’s quite unsettling and I wake up crying and sweating. It sucks. But last night was heavenly. Solid rest with dreams of oceans and long walks - two things I love dearly.
I woke at 5:45 am to distant rumbles and purple flashes coming through my windows. The rain was steady on the window sill and was providing the perfect transition into waking life. And as my eyes adjusted to the grey room, I looked at the pillow beside me and the blankets that formed, what seemed like, an endless desolate landscape where I might traverse with no direction until to death do I part.
With that landscape came the realization of being alone again. I miss the softness of sleep with her and how she would feel in the morning. She looked like a baby deer snuggled up in a nest of leaves. Her rose petal lips against her fresh-cream skin - dashed with specks of ground ginger…and I’d watch an occupied landscape slowly rise and fall with life as I would leave for work. Unfortunately, I’d often leave without telling her goodbye.
Recognizing the situation, I immediately started to sing the ending of the Beautiful South song, “My Book” - where Paul Heaton desperately repeats over and over again, “Back to bed, back to reality.”
This activity that I usually dread was one I wanted to dive back into - to dream of oceans and long walks. Now I face a day thinking about what isn’t. Alas! My corpse walks alone.
Today’s offering is a simple lament of love lost. It holds firm to beautiful memories while succumbing to the reality that there is no going back. Because of the night of good sleep and a rainy day that would’ve been lovely to spend with her, this song works for me: Flower Face “Angela”.