PlazaJen: Passion Knit

I am sure this is one of those statements that doesn't even really need to be MADE. But I had a rough night last night, waking myself up with a surge of acid in the back of my throat, and I didn't sleep well after that point. I haven't had that much stress, but as I lay in bed last night, wondering why I felt SO out of sorts, I realized that I've been ignoring, to some extent, that next Tuesday is the two-year anniversary of my father's death, and that I've made my brain separate onto two planes, of sorts. I have the bulk of my brain set on "good times!" and living in the now, and being in relatively good spirits. And I think that big chunk of brain is set on "put the hammer down" on the other plane as a preventative measure, because I want to be progressing, moving forward, being happy, and I am acutely aware that June 10th is coming, not to mention the wincing at all the Father's Day crap bombarding all of us.

So the lower, squashed plane of my brain is getting back at me in oblique, under-handed ways. Like trying to drown me in stomach acid, or giving me insane, bizarre dreams that stay with me long past the alarm has me up and moving around. I felt like I have been in a stupor for a good 10-15 minutes every morning, trying to shake off the dream memories from the night, sorting out what is and isn't reality, like picking cobwebs out your hair.

Last night? I dreamed my co-workers and I were driving around town. In the Murano, of course, and I was driving. But even though it was Kansas City, it was very, very dangerous. And as we went through an intersection, an oncoming car - like an old Nissan Sentra - passed us going the other direction, and the driver was a crazy terrorist, and he brandished a baby-blue AK-47 at us, and his AK-47 had all kinds of floral stickers all over it. Kind of the "Hello Kitty" version of weaponry.

I went into a RAGE. Because I had MY AK-47, and that fucker wasn't going to threaten me with his flowery gun, mine was black and all badass. And my co-workers were kind of freaking out, but they all got out their guns, too, and we went driving through a cul-de-sac Johnson-County-esque neighborhood, shooting at the windows of the houses, just to prove we weren't powerless.

Someone might have a control issue or three, ya think? I've decided my new solution, when faced with situations I can't control, is to shout, "I'm Right!" at the top of my lungs in the car. It at least makes me laugh and stops some of the obsessing. Plus, it's far less dangerous than brandishing weaponry.

Labels: I'm Crazy