In and out

I started to write about a dream last night. Setting two tables. One table with the chairs all facing the wrong way. But I’ve suddenly lost the energy and deleted everything and mostly I wanted to write about/remember the part where we ate in a Mexican restaurant, supposedly a famous restaurant, authentic in a nameless town where they sell guts and internal delicacies and if you aren’t careful or know exactly what to order, you’ll be eating unidentifiable flesh covered in mole. Which is what happened to a girl in my dream, I’ve never seen the girl before, atypical americana girl – dark hair, plain face, friendly and bubbly like americana girls should be and she didn’t know what she ordered, something just came out on her plate. A glossy mound of flesh. Fat, pink meat, sweat, bone. Two tiny teeth poking out in the front. And before I could tell her not to put that in her mouth, she dug her fork in and took a bite. I swore I could see the thing’s brain. Pulsing gray inside. I knew if she kept eating she would discover she ordered something’s head. But she spit out the bite, pulled the thing’s teeth out of her mouth.

Not entirely sure what to think about that.

I woke up and wrote another draft and almost fell asleep in my half hour cool down. I had a quick semi-conscious dream. A woman sinking into sand. She was laughing. She was happy. Something would pull her up again, but she’d sink back down in the sand box. She didn’t mind.

I’ve been feeling exposed, lately. This morning, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write much on the blog this week. But here I am and we’ll see. What I’ve been writing is unarmored. And I only say that because I feel like I’ve been writing on bone, on nerve and I’m not used to giving that a face in the world. I’m not used to posting and framing and slapping it on walls in bright lights, a marquee. It’s terrifying for someone like me. It’s more than being judged for wearing pink boots. It’s my insides on the outsides.
So, I may be in and out. I’m trying to learn how to fill myself with things of myself. Yesterday, I watched a dark-headed finch come back to the feeder over and over again and only for sunflower seeds.

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