Miss me?

It was the silence that disoriented me most. No, silence is the wrong word. The lack of sound. Any sound. In that void of any noise or music your breathing fills your ears. It took me some time to push the consciousness of it away – which I had to do to keep from having a panic attack.

I opened my eyes, unsure of what I would find. I was in a brightly lit — area. My bed was all that was there that I could see, as there was a fog that, while not interfering with the bright, sharp light did obscure what was past about a 2 meter radius from me. The air was pleasant enough – fresh, but not sweet. No discernible scents – not even that of plastic or metal. My bed looked like it always did – the scratches on the medium, stained wood of the headboard from the rings on my fingers, the collection of pillows scattered around. My cat wasn’t there though – and neither was his black fur, which usually formed a thin fur blanket on the right side near the top.

I sniffed my skin. It smelled of nothing – neither soap nor my human scent nor my moisturizer. Just nothing. I touched my face and hair. Good. I still had familiar feeling facial features and hair. I thought about brushing my hair and suddenly a brush appeared on the bed next to my hand. I should have been more afraid, but I shrugged and picked it up. It was the brush I’d thought of. I brushed my hair, then picked up a mirror. Same face – pudgy, blue/grey eyes, pale skin, full lips, childish nose.

“Hi there old friend!” I said and blew a kiss to my reflection. I set down the brush and mirror. I looked down at my body and shrieked, jumping out of bed. I was clothed. Soft, wide legged white pants and a long sleeved, soft white top with a rounded neck. My feet were in lovely, soft white slippers that encased them gently and had springy soles. I bounced on the balls of my feet a few times and admired the slippers. I turned back to my bed. It was gone.

That freaked me out. I walked several steps towards where it had been. It was definitely no longer there. Now everything was white. Except my beige skin.

“I’m going to introduce more colour if I don’t find somewhere to pee!” I shouted. A toilet, what I think was a bidet, a sink,and all the accessories appeared.

I took care of things, took time washing my hands and tried not to blink or turn away. I left the water running, enjoying the sound. But it all faded away anyway, leaving me alone.

That pissed me off. I was angry at myself for not paying closer attention to the quality of sound from the water. I clapped my hands, then shouted.

“ECHO!” But no echo returned. The sound was dead on arrival. I had to ask myself if I’d heard it, or just imagined I had. That tore at the edges of my sanity, so I soon let that thread drop.

I stomped my feet. I then bent down and took off the slippers. The floor wasn’t carpeting, it wasn’t tile or cement either. I couldn’t really see it through the fog that seemed to spring up when I tried to bend down to look at it. I lowered myself to my knees and then lay down face first on it’s surface. It didn’t seem to yield or resist. It supported, but indifferently. It was neither soft nor hard. It wasn’t slippery. It wasn’t cool but nor was it hot. This was starting to really get to me.

“What the fuck is going on?” I shouted it at first, then as I repeated it – I worked up to screams. A glass of water on a plynth appeared.

I drank some of the water. No taste. Because of this, it was gag-inducing. Just a liquid moving across my tongue and down my throat. Neither hot nor cold. I threw the glass at the floor. It disappeared with no sound.

I started to cry and hated myself for it. At first just tears leaking from my eyes. Then, my throat opened and sobs tore out of me. Some hysterical, sub human screaming followed. I lay down on the floor/ground and pulled my legs up to my chest, then rocked from side to side. A few tissues appeared near me.

“Got an issue – grab a tissue, is that the idea?” I murmured. I blew my nose and looked – even my mucus was clear. I threw the used tissues on the floor and stomped away.

I tried singing for a while. Show tunes. Pop songs. Whatever came into my head. But my battle against the silence was a losing one. It was relentless, as was that fucking fog. There was nothing around me. I looked up and just got diffused light. No shadows of large heads looking down at their human rat. Nothing changed about the quality of the light. It remained cold – more blue than the warmth of an incandescent bulb or the sun in summer.

This went on for hours. At least, it felt like that. When I was hungry, food appeared. In the form of a clear, gelatinous cube on a plate. That awful, tasteless water. I tried scratching at my skin with my nails so that I could see a colour other than the relentless white. I could never quite reach the surface of my skin. The same when I tried punching myself. Or throwing myself to the floor. Time passed.

When I finally tired of walking blindly and a white bed appeared. I crawled into it, so relieved to at least have a tactile sensation. The covers at least made a lovely swoosh -swoosh in my ear and settled over skin. They smelled of nothing but I pulled up a scent memory of sunshine-scented sheets. I fell asleep, slightly calmed by that thought of the outside world. I dreamed that night of the blue-green ocean, the pale greens and greys of gum trees, the rootbeer waters of the stream outside my unit, the brilliant purple of a jacaranda petal drop, the many greens of a New Hampshire forest in the summer. Smells crept in. Hot chocolate chip cookies. The air after a summer rain. The deep, spicy smell of Shiraz. Tastes of lemony iced tea and spicy barbecue sauce and a juicy orange. The softness of my cat’s fur, the smoothness of the skin on my late husband’s face right after he shaved, the feeling on my lips the last time we kissed.

When I woke, I thought how nice it would be to take a shower. Dutifully, a white shower appeared.

“I want a RED shower or none at all!” The shower turned red.

“Fuck the shower – go away!” It faded away.

“I want it ALL back!” I squealed and sat up on the bed, pounding my fists. My heart was pounding, my skin tingling, my face got hot and I heard the mattress squeaking as I jumped up and down on my knees. I bit my lip and felt hot fluid drip on my chin. My fingers trembled as they showed my eyes the red droplets. I was still fucking alive.

A door appeared in the distance. It was white, but had brass handles – like my bedroom door. The bed had changed into my bed. I swung my legs over the edge. The floor looked a long way down. I shook my head and jumped.

I landed on hands and knees. My feet were bare. My legs had their dotting of black stubble. I laughed at it and ran my hand up the front of my right leg, enjoying the wiry feeling of my leg hair. I stood up. The floor was still soft and hard at once, but I could detect a shift in the texture. The fog was subsiding. But I didn’t look down or back.
I passed the end of the bed and put my hand on my dresser. Our dresser once. Now, just mine. I could smell something – the smell of wood and — dust! My eyes teared up. I looked forward at the door. It had seemed so far away just a moment ago. I moved my feet. Right. Then left. Then right. My left thigh brushed against a rough surface. My laundry hamper! I wanted to hug it, but I couldn’t be distracted.

Left. Right. Left. Right. I leaned forward and my hand touched the brass horizontal door handle. I took a deep breath. My right elbow brushed the mirror on the side of the wardrobe wall. I looked into it. My hair was wild and bushy. My eyes were sunk into dark patches of skin. My lips were pale. My black nightgown with it’s silly saying was pilly and had a hole in it. I stuck my tongue out at that reflection of what I’d been. I turned the door handle and stepped over the threshold onto the cool tile of my hallway. A little black cat – my little black cat – looked up and me and miaowed. I got down on my knees and looked him in his green gold eyes.

“Did you miss me?” I reached out and he came to me, snuggling into me with snorts and purrs and smelling of sunshine and dust, his black silky fur caressing my thighs.

Sexy voice

I have a sexy voice. You have a sexy voice.  The lift I took this afternoon had a definitely sexy way of saying “Foth Flo-wah”. One of my favourite comedians, Michelle Wolfe, has a sexy voice. And by that I don’t mean our other voices.

I have a voice for friends – mellow, punctuated by laughter. A voice for work. A voice when I’m teaching or presenting. A voice for videos. And — my sexy voice.

This has had little chance to come out in the past year or so. I typically save it for phone calls.

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On mourning, me-icide and merkins

So this week is a classically hard one for me as Mother’s Day loomed up and needed to be dealt with. I say this because it was on Mother’s Day three years ago that Paul couldn’t get his steak down and his mum and I told him he was going to the doctor if we had to drag him there unconscious.

I also found out that a brilliant friend of mine, with whom I bonded over edtech and depression, had succumbed to the burden that state involves and decided lights out was the right option. In doing so she put out a light for the many people she’s touched in her life.

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Finding a way to connect or dissolve

I feel I’ve reached a new stage of my life. I was very ill a few months ago and realised some harsh truths.

Amongst them – life inherently has no purpose.  It’s an old thread. Are we “spiritual” beings in biological bodies? Or are we biological beings with a “spiritual” nature?

My definition of spiritual is metacognitive, the part of our brain that can not only observe our thought patterns but observe the observance of those thought patterns.

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Supply-side emotional health

When I was a child I remember a story called “The Plain Princess”. The core message was similar – find pride and joy in creating, doing and being of service — not from looks or consumption or power over others.

This little video/advert is titled “How to Find Your Passion” but there is something in it that struck me deeply.

The message regarded how one creates dopamine/joy in life.

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Late for a reason?

Image (c) Sedona Monthly – used under Fair Use Provision of Copyright Act

Today I was late for work and it seemed like there was a good reason for it.

No, I’m not talking about the reason being that I fell back asleep. Or then got lost in thought as I pet my amorous cats. It was what happened after I left the house.

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Reasons to celebrate

Ghost of Christmas Present by Kara Shallenberg CC by sa

Christmas. I want to like it again.  I went in the shop yesterday and the music and food and decorations made me run out as quickly as I could before I cried. I went home and drank wine again, sat on the sofa and played a phone game until 12 0am this morning.

I AM looking forward to seeing my friends in NSW, to getting away from memories and making new ones. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas since Paul died is bringing something different in terms of mindset.


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Enough to keep you awake

I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. It takes me a while to get relaxed enough and then I wake up early.

I’ve got some worries. Still learning financial literacy. Wondering if I want a significant other or not. And concerns about my health.

I want vitality. Enough to lose weight, strengthen my limbs, think clearly. And for the past several months I didn’t have a sleeping problem. I had two other problems:

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