Sunday, May 26, 2002
i'm not much for dreams anymore. i don't remember them and can't help thinking they're just retreads of your day, your week. whatever. there's daylight burning, etc. it doesn't help to hear other people mention their dreams to me. boring. trivial. nonsensical. is there such a thing as a collective loss of dreams? or have the movies images outpaced our own internal stories? whatever the case, there's nothing more boring than other people's dreams and i rarely listen to them nor do i want to foist my own on some poor sap.
but, every now and again, one grabs me in it's jungian folds and it squeezes me inside out. i can't let it go. i guess it's like a koan. something you have to sit with. at any rate, for those of you like me, you can skip it, but i have to write it down. my apologies in advance.
i was floating down a river with my wife. some other people were with us. i think we were tubing down the river. but i happened to be in the water swimming alongside my tube. it was an overcast day. the river seemed deeper than your average tubing river. suddenly i felt a tiny hand grasp my arm from underneath the water. i swear the jolt of feeling that tiny hand underneath the water grabbing at me, that shock of something emerging from a place least expected, will be with me for a long time. i probably shuddered under the covers. i grabbed the extended arm of this hand and pulled up a tiny baby. he was coughing and sputtering and crying. i couldn't believe it. here was this tiny baby that was drowning in the water. and i had just happened by. there were no other people around; nobody that looked to be searching for a tiny baby drowning in this river. i held the baby. my wife came over. so did the others. he wouldn't stop crying, wailing really, but he was o.k. as we struggled to figure out what was going on, we turned a bend in the river and came up on a lady drifing down the river like me; swimming next to her tube. we edged up on her and i noticed that she had a baby in her arms. when she turned around, i saw the flash of recognition in her eyes. this was her baby i was holding. and in a split instant i knew what was going on. knew before the dream played out. she turned back around. i nudged up to her tube and quickly asked her if the baby i had in my hands was her baby. at first she tried to ignore me. then after i kept questioning her, she finally turned and looked at me. there was a blank look in her eyes. she said no. but i knew she was lying. the baby that was in her arms looked exactly like the baby i was holding. we forced her to the banks and got out of the water. someone called the police. she wanted to leave, but we held her there until the police came. the last bit of the dream is foggy. i remember explaining to the police that this woman had simply dropped one of her babies into the river to drown, and that possibly, she was going to drown the other one. i had no idea what her story was. perhaps she just couldn't handle it anymore? my wife and i wanted to adopt the babies immediately. there was just this sheer cold trickle in my back and i wouldn't let go of the baby i was holding. my wife had the other baby in her arms.
so there you go. the river is life or this world or my psyche. the babies are responsibilities perhaps. this mysterious women is the potential for evil or laziness or just the fear of responsibility. but the shock and fear i had when the tiny hand grabbed my arm. that was damn unusual.
just so you don't go off on the retread theory, i didn't go rafting or swimming or see any river rafting movies in the past few months.
stories like this warm my heart.
an addictive little game that (surprisingly) helps you with your java chops.
Saturday, May 18, 2002
When everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I'd like to be and what I could be if...if only there were no other people in the world.
- from the diary of a young girl by anne frank
Sunday, May 12, 2002
long past the 48 hours but still bitching about nothing.
i put the whole bitchathon thing on hold b/c a guy i work with came out and told everyone he's got ALS or lou gehrig's disease. which means pretty much that i've got zero to complain about. he's a better human being than i am and ain't it the truth that disease and tragedy cover us all in their sick and twisted logic. or something like that. he's still upbeat and positive and aiming to fight it with everything he has. he surely doesn't deserve this. i guess none of us do. or all of us, if you just watched unforgiven for the 50th time and think clint eastwood is a better preacher than most.
at any rate, in answer to the eternal question of what the hell to do on the weekend, we bought the kids a big blowup pool which looks completely ridiculous, went to gruene hall for mother's day, and got to the inner atlantis level on atlantis. not to mention that the mavs are still hanging in there with the kings. and the lakers suck.
there's my bitch. aah, you drug it outta me didn't you? the laker's suck. does anyone like the lakers? i'm serious. i think they're the evil empire. they're the microsoft of basketball. the richest, bitchiest group led by some completely half-baked zen guru self-helpathon guy (who does manage to have 5 NBA championship rings on his fingers, but still...). c'mon. these guys are annoying. shaq? kobe? rick fox? here's what money will buy you. plus everyone in hollywood has to show up at their games to prove that they have interests other than their own shallow lives. i'm so sick of the lakers. i want san antonio to win. WIN YOU LOUSY SONS OF BITCHES. WIN.
Monday, May 06, 2002
ongoing 48 hour bitchathon sponsored by God and Dr. Cool.
i also hate how people that don't have kids talk about how they're going to do such and such when they have kids. like "my kids aren't going to do that" or "i'm going to let my kids do whatever they want" or "what can a kid do that's so bad that you have to punish them?" or "breastfeeding is the only way to truly nourish your kid." i've heard all these and more. and you know what? BULLSHIT. you're kids are going to MELT YOU DOWN TO A PANCAKE. you aren't going to be the sane, rational, ultra-hip person that you are right now. you will be sleep-deprived. you will have the same inane questions thrown at you at least 200 times. can i have a coke? daddy. can i have a coke? you will not remember one day from the next. you will be scratched and bitten and accidentally squared in the nuts so many times that you won't even remember how you slept in a non-defensive posture. you will change 10,000 diapers and end up with both pee and crap in your hair at some point. none of what you expect to happen will happen. you can stop deluding yourselves right about now.
48 hour bitchathon sponsored by God and Dr. Cool.
i hate it when i'm at work and i'm in a meeting and i get lured into actually caring about the outcome of the meeting. sometimes i actually say things and my voice gets a little strained. even worse, when i look around and realize that i'm the one holding up the meeting. BORING. that's what one of my co-worker's yells out sometimes. jeezus can i run off at the mouth. and i realize it and there's nothing to really do but shut up. so that's what i do. but i still feel like a small peanut for a) caring about the outcome of a silly hot air discussion and b) for making other people as miserable as i am when they're running off at the mouth.
Sunday, May 05, 2002
two seemingly disconnected quotes have been coming into my head quite a bit.
what makes God laugh? people making plans.
Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief.
i'm not sure of the origins of the first joke. the second item is from the gospel of mark. both seem to hint at this mystery and contradiction of God as filtered through man's everyday experiences. faith is shrouded in fog. how can we know for certain anything, let alone if there is a God or what his intentions for us might be? and yet...and yet...i've lived too much of this life to know that there is more to it than bits and atoms randomly interconnecting. like william james said. either life is a real fight for which something is eternally gained by success or it's a trivial game from which one can withdraw at will. his only real evidence to support the first option is that it feels like a fight. that's what it boils down to for me sometimes. it feels like a fight. and, in a way, the only truthful prayer of the man wrestlling with this life is that of the poor father in mark who brings his sick and dying child to jesus in hopes of some sort of miracle.
i do believe. cure my unbelief.
Wednesday, May 01, 2002
i just watched the final episode of one of the finer shows on television: frontier house