My Herniated Hurting Back, Beau's New Remote Control Fart Machine, a Baby Possum and a Dream About My House and the Stormy Sea
My back had been hurting badly so I've been going to a back clinic. For those of you who are kindly reading this, and new to my journal, I hurt my back recently while helping my man Scott clean out the two story condo of his Daddy, who recently passed away.
I've lost 130+ pounds in the last year, (weight loss surgery), and am super out of shape, and according to the cover article of a prestigious magazine I've been reading, (Like I how I skirt the issue, literally, by covering for the fact that I can't remember the name of the magazine by calling it prestigious, clever of me, eh?), any sudden burst of repetitive exercise when done by a super out of shape person, (that would be me), can herniate a disc, weeeee.
So I went to the orthopedic surgeon, and the chiropractor, then another back doctor, a physical therapist, and a Pilates clinic, (too much too soon -- they said to give it a slight weight, [heh, interesting Freudian sip there], and you all know I've been blabbing on about wanting to do Pilates and Yoga here since even before my surgery, but because I am truly the world's biggest procrastinator, I have to hurt myself before I'll find the motivation to do something about anything), and I'm as much on top of this as I can be. I've got the meds, and the heating pads, and am stretching and resting as much as possible.
This comes at such a super rotten time for, considering I always have so much to do, so many things to be organized and gone through -- my Mother's basement, my garage -- all of the contents of which have been displaced to my backyard for an entire season, with only Johnny Up covers to semi-protect everything from the elements, there's the magazine shoot for Woman's Day magazine, which means we have to clean and style the house, we have all kinds of mysterious cat virus/ailments that we need to sort out, most importantly there's Beau's troubles with organization, concentration and school, and his physical health to be addressed, Beau and my ongoing dental needs, my frightening financial challenges and all of the things I should be listing for sale on eBay and/or putting in my antique mall case, to say nothing of the fact that I've had two great opportunities to intern as a stylist just drop into my lap, and I've been doing almost nothing about them.
I haven't even mentioned my neglected boyfriend, his needs, and my desire to be a better, more involved partner, and there's always my Mom and the never ending drama with Rosa and to top it all off my neighbor Karyn asked me if I wanted to help her do something about the rat she had trapped alive in a trash can in her yard. Well, of course I did so I went to see and it turned out to be a baby possum so now I've got a baby possum to raise. Oh and my friend Godsi, (I don't know how to spell this, I just call her Mommy because she's my friend Atra's Mother), is leaving for Iran next Wednesday so she wants me to come over and play with her every day and I want to too, but how do I find the time with all of this going on and my unpredictable, debilitating spinal spasms? They just come on whenever they feel like it and I'm forced to stop whatever I'm doing and lay down, sucks, but not as bad as cancer, so you see, there's always a silver lining, seriously, things could always be worse. Knock on wood/life.
Esther's having fun playing with the new and improved remote control fart machine that I bought for Beau for Easter -- yeah, a truly spiritual gift, all about birth, spring, and renewal, not. This should have been an end of winter gift or for some holiday involving farting, can't think of one just now.
I had the most intense dreams last night; they were so vivid I wanted to write them down, (could be all the meds I've been taking for the pain, Vicodin, Bextra, and a really intense muscle relaxant that turned me into a serious zombie last night. It was as if I'd been out on some huge drinking binge where you don't really know what the hell you're doing and wake up the next day with a hangover and a very messy house. I ate everything in site and then woke up this morning with the stiffest back I've ever had and there was a huge mess all over my night stand and bed. Yikes, I think I'll taper way the hell back on the back meds tonight), and of course, if reading people's dreams bores the heck out of you skip, skip, skippity, but you'll be missing out on a super interesting story...
I'm at the beach, living in a gorgeous beach house, right on the water with a big white sandy beach stretching out towards the sea. It's a variation on the home I live in, in real life, but much older, more authentic, a really beautiful, finely built, Craftsman style, two story home, with hand carved wood elements throughout, big round river rock stones, built ins, fireplaces, high ceilings and glass everywhere to take advantage of the amazing view of the sea. It is the first home you see along this little stretch of beach front property that reminds me of the Colony in Malibu, only there are some businesses mixed in. It's also the finest property on the street.
There is a storm coming, a bad one, the sea is rising and people are moving out of their homes and businesses as quickly as they can. It comes on pretty fast and is building in intensity. I am overwhelmed and frightened but even as every member of my family, including the many friends who live with us, abandon our home, I refuse to leave until I can safely gather everything and take it with me. But I have too many things, there is way too much to do, and I don't have enough time or arms to carry everything. I don't even know what I'll do with my things when I get them downstairs. The car is full and we have nowhere to go.
I keep trying to dial 911 to call for help but every time I call I get disconnected or the phone goes dead. I'm convinced that if I could just reach someone, anyone, that with more people here helping, we'd all be able to save our homes, animals, and possessions.
I am mainly concerned with saving our animals that everyone else is more than willing to abandon. I also want to at least grab a few basics, some clothes, a blanket, some of my things that I will need to get me through the next few weeks. There are two sets of dressers and two closets, my clothes are all mixed up and I can't seem to find any of my newer things that fit my smaller body. I'm confused about what size I wear and can't seem to decide on which clothes to take with me.
There is a terrible sense of urgency and rush. Everyone wants me to just abandon our animals and everything else and just get out of the house like they have done. I am trying to weigh just how much time I have to continue gathering things before I will be caught up in the collapsing house and swept out to sea along with it.
I keep running up and down the ever weakening and dangerously listing stairs to my bedroom that is at the front of the house and sinking towards the wet sand. Waves are beginning to come into the house through the front windows and the wood is groaning and cracking. The railing has fallen away from the stairs and the wood beneath my feet feels mushy as if any second it will collapse beneath my weight.
My ex-husband Robby is here with me, but in the dream his is still my husband. Dreams that have Robby in them usually tear me up inside because I get so confused and conflicted between my longing for the seeming stability of my former life, the dream of the life I had with him, and the hard truth of it and my wanting to be back in current time with Scott. I'm guessing I dredged up Robby as a symbol because he represents the past and my meaner, less-self-accepting, not-too terribly loving, super hard driven taskmaster self. He tells me that he thinks I have been eating too much and that he isn't impressed with my weight loss -- that it's nothing and that what I've managed to accomplish so far is only really about 5% of what I could acomplish if I really tried. I am so hurt by this, and despite the dangerous circumstances we are in, waste time trying to convince him otherwise. But he won't hear me, doesn't care, and leaves me torn and broken inside like always.
My old friends the McVeys are here, (I think about them a lot but rarely write about them because I miss them so much and am so torn up about our history and my broken relations with them, I also worry that my friend Lorraine may occasionally read my journal, nevertheless she is always present for me, always on my mind, might as well admit it), and I am worried about Christine. She is like a child and needs caring for. She wants me to get out of the house and keeps coming up the dangerous stairs to get me. I am worried for her and tell her to go downstairs and get out of the sinking house. I ask her to help me by carrying a few things with her on her way down but she acts like my naughty teenage son Beau and refuses to help.
Back in my bedroom I am overwhelmed with the task at hand. What do I save? There are so many things, and I don't want to be forced to part with them -- so many photo albums, my old pictures, photographs and papers, the history of my parents and grandparent's lives, my mother and grandmother's dresses that I have been working so hard at collecting, my acting portfolio, the tapes of things I've done that I will need in order to make my demo reel, my jewelry, my makeup and perfume and all my many collections, and most importantly the remaining animal's in cages and the cats that are running all over the place.
My second story bedroom has listed so far forward now that it's almost level with the sand and the walls are opening up. Little Lucilla, our tiny, bald, Cornish Rex cat makes her way out of one of the openings and onto the wet marshy beach. I am afraid she will be swept out to sea. She is just playfully thinking about catching the small fish that are flopping around on the beach and diving in and out of the small pools of water that the rising tide has formed. For a moment I watch her, thinking how odd it is that my cat has suddenly developed a fondness for water and can swim. But then I'm startled out of this by my friend's cries of alarm from below and the rising flood waters.
I have to try to get her so I abandon all hope of gathering any more of my precious memories and things and start kicking at the walls of our bedroom. I manage to make a hole large enough to crawl out of when she suddenly darts back in through another hole chasing a small beach bug of some kind. I scoop her up and run for the crumbling stairs. The emotional impact of the impending loss of our home and all of our things is intensely painful. I feel terrible grief as I abandon all hope of saving any more of my animal friends, I can only hope the ones I didn't catch were saved by someone else or made their way outside.
Later, I am standing in the street outside with all of the other ruined home and building refugees. Everyone is devastated, exhausted, overwhelmed, and yet somehow strong and capable -- survivors all. I admire these people who were able to clean out all of their things so efficiently. Why was I the only one who left everything until the last minute? Why weren't we more like these people who although frightened and overwhelmed, were able to get all of their belongings out before their houses began to crumble and collapse?
Our house is going, being carried away by the waves and tide in great big chunks of wood, plaster and debris. So many people are gathered by the shore watching it's final destruction but they do not know the house belongs to me. I turn my back to it, knowing that it is lost and there is no saving it, and am more intent on meeting the other people who have lived on my street, shop owners who worked in stores above which they lived. It feels better to be here with these other people, safe in the street, away from the crumbling houses, to be part of a greater whole in terms of the suffering, and to have a community of people with whom I belong.
I don't remember much more except that there were some earlier dreams about my wanting to take care of other people's babies.