"There is nothing more helpless and irresponsible than a man in the depths of an ether binge." - Hunter S. Thompson

That said, I'm curious if my pillow was, perhaps, laundered in ether prior to last night. The events of the week leading up to this moment have left me somewhat numb. Even as I type, my boys are a small ways away - shrieking incoherently at each other one moment, then laughing maniacally the next (I'm pretty sure one of them just launched a remote and/or the cat across the living room at one of my favorite pictures). A normal mother would probably have intervened long before now - maybe disciplined the wee beasts or sent them to separate corners for a time out. I'm sure I'll unleash my death metal voice momentarily long enough to finish a thought.... and back.

I found myself staring in the ceiling in disbelief through the night. Once again, I was in the bunk bed with The Miniature One after a particularly rough evening. As I lay there, I would be occasionally entranced by his breathing patterns - The Muppet snoring - His little cricket feet... Just like his Papa... Always moving. Between these trances, so many thoughts running through what's left of my mind. This time, they were more unusual, though. More... organized. As though I were getting all my mental affairs in order before doing something drastic. A conveyor belt would present each new thought with polite consideration of my traumatized state. It didn't feel so much as though I were actually registering each thought - rather taking a sort of inventory and promptly sending each on it's way to be catalogued. Almost self-impressed with the level of organization I could be capable of with a bit of exertion.

Awhile back, I had an experience akin to a recurring dream. Deja vu of the most frightening variety. Before this moment, the last such occurrence was during my senior year of high school. The memory of it...so vivid, it sends chills dancing across my flesh as I consider whether my mind would ever win this bizarre battle against itself. Before I continue, I feel I must make something abundantly clear. I do not wish to end my time on this planet. I have no aspirations to make the 9 o'clock news, nor would I ever do anything to intentionally cause pain to my family or those I love.

When this experience came crashing over me with the same awesome force of an ocean wave, I was driving at night across an overpass. I have crossed this same overpass countless times without so much as a second thought. In fact, I used to drive that route every morning on my way to work, and again on auto-pilot each evening. This time was so very different. It was longer.... more ominous... the condition of the road itself had changed - as though I could feel the texture of the asphalt reverberating through my body. Altering my blood flow.

I momentarily flashed back to that magical nighttime kayak adventure while I was in Puerto Rico the previous September. As I was driving, all the roughness of the road very suddenly smoothed - smoothed to the water beneath the mangroves. The canopy of twisted branches barely visible through the darkness. The sounds of the sea water sloshing off the oar with each successive stroke... those were the only sounds between an almost deafening silence. This bridge went on for what seemed like days. My mind racing between the here and now, and that kayak. In one final moment, I remember the lagoon - the destination of that voyage. So dark. But as you let your fingertips caress the water just outside the boat, all the luminescent algae would light up .... millions of them so that the water sparkled and glowed ever-so-briefly. In that exact point in time, I inexplicably felt the car pulling to the right. My mind racing through the motions of driving off that bridge to my death.

The muscles in my arms had won this battle. I found myself at the opposite end of the overpass - Safe and alive. Tears streaming down my cheeks as I fought to catch my breath. As I awoke from this horrible dreamlike state, Deep Blue Day was softly playing through the car's speakers.

Yesterday, before I attempted to go to sleep..... I had a brief hiccup of a memory - the memory that I actually had been having these recurring dreams of sorts far more frequently. Only they had taken a different turn. And by "frequent", I mean approaching the level of hourly. I can only imagine in some sort of defense/survival attempt, my mind has been furiously toiling to keep these subdued and hidden in shadow. Yet my mind is clearly engaged in debate with itself as it failed to keep the flashlight from flickering on upon this revelation.

How does one so much as begin to prepare for the descent into madness? Is vigilant/analytical thought any sort of armor? I have had casual fears of notions of being a prisoner in my own mind. It's become far more commonplace or at least more common in my conscious awareness what with literally millions of sources of information streaming in any given second. Is it, perhaps, best to shut the outside world off? Roll the dice on the odds that the poison is from an outside influence? It seems I have yet another journey ahead of me. Additionally seems this time I may truly need the luck I have previously requested under better circumstance.

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Kitty

Saturday, May 14, 2011

"There is nothing more helpless and irresponsible than a man in the depths of an ether binge." - Hunter S. Thompson

That said, I'm curious if my pillow was, perhaps, laundered in ether prior to last night. The events of the week leading up to this moment have left me somewhat numb. Even as I type, my boys are a small ways away - shrieking incoherently at each other one moment, then laughing maniacally the next (I'm pretty sure one of them just launched a remote and/or the cat across the living room at one of my favorite pictures). A normal mother would probably have intervened long before now - maybe disciplined the wee beasts or sent them to separate corners for a time out. I'm sure I'll unleash my death metal voice momentarily long enough to finish a thought.... and back.

I found myself staring in the ceiling in disbelief through the night. Once again, I was in the bunk bed with The Miniature One after a particularly rough evening. As I lay there, I would be occasionally entranced by his breathing patterns - The Muppet snoring - His little cricket feet... Just like his Papa... Always moving. Between these trances, so many thoughts running through what's left of my mind. This time, they were more unusual, though. More... organized. As though I were getting all my mental affairs in order before doing something drastic. A conveyor belt would present each new thought with polite consideration of my traumatized state. It didn't feel so much as though I were actually registering each thought - rather taking a sort of inventory and promptly sending each on it's way to be catalogued. Almost self-impressed with the level of organization I could be capable of with a bit of exertion.

Awhile back, I had an experience akin to a recurring dream. Deja vu of the most frightening variety. Before this moment, the last such occurrence was during my senior year of high school. The memory of it...so vivid, it sends chills dancing across my flesh as I consider whether my mind would ever win this bizarre battle against itself. Before I continue, I feel I must make something abundantly clear. I do not wish to end my time on this planet. I have no aspirations to make the 9 o'clock news, nor would I ever do anything to intentionally cause pain to my family or those I love.

When this experience came crashing over me with the same awesome force of an ocean wave, I was driving at night across an overpass. I have crossed this same overpass countless times without so much as a second thought. In fact, I used to drive that route every morning on my way to work, and again on auto-pilot each evening. This time was so very different. It was longer.... more ominous... the condition of the road itself had changed - as though I could feel the texture of the asphalt reverberating through my body. Altering my blood flow.

I momentarily flashed back to that magical nighttime kayak adventure while I was in Puerto Rico the previous September. As I was driving, all the roughness of the road very suddenly smoothed - smoothed to the water beneath the mangroves. The canopy of twisted branches barely visible through the darkness. The sounds of the sea water sloshing off the oar with each successive stroke... those were the only sounds between an almost deafening silence. This bridge went on for what seemed like days. My mind racing between the here and now, and that kayak. In one final moment, I remember the lagoon - the destination of that voyage. So dark. But as you let your fingertips caress the water just outside the boat, all the luminescent algae would light up .... millions of them so that the water sparkled and glowed ever-so-briefly. In that exact point in time, I inexplicably felt the car pulling to the right. My mind racing through the motions of driving off that bridge to my death.

The muscles in my arms had won this battle. I found myself at the opposite end of the overpass - Safe and alive. Tears streaming down my cheeks as I fought to catch my breath. As I awoke from this horrible dreamlike state, Deep Blue Day was softly playing through the car's speakers.

Yesterday, before I attempted to go to sleep..... I had a brief hiccup of a memory - the memory that I actually had been having these recurring dreams of sorts far more frequently. Only they had taken a different turn. And by "frequent", I mean approaching the level of hourly. I can only imagine in some sort of defense/survival attempt, my mind has been furiously toiling to keep these subdued and hidden in shadow. Yet my mind is clearly engaged in debate with itself as it failed to keep the flashlight from flickering on upon this revelation.

How does one so much as begin to prepare for the descent into madness? Is vigilant/analytical thought any sort of armor? I have had casual fears of notions of being a prisoner in my own mind. It's become far more commonplace or at least more common in my conscious awareness what with literally millions of sources of information streaming in any given second. Is it, perhaps, best to shut the outside world off? Roll the dice on the odds that the poison is from an outside influence? It seems I have yet another journey ahead of me. Additionally seems this time I may truly need the luck I have previously requested under better circumstance.

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