Knock, Knock, Knock

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I have this recurring dream.

It’s only been coming since I moved into the apartment. (At least, I think it has. It’s possible it happened at the old place in Nanaimo, too, and I just don’t remember. Let’s not forget that I’ve had way too many concussions in my life, so my memory is not what it used to be. I do know that it doesn’t happen when I’m at Ogre’s.)

I can’t remember what actually happens in the dream.

I only know what happens at the end. Because it always wakes me up, and I always forget the dream almost instantly.

It’s a knocking.

A sharp rap rap rap against my front door. Or, sometimes, the door to my bedroom.

It’s loud, though not angry, and it sounds like it’s actually happening. Insistent, confident, with a presence that tells me there’s someone on the other side of the door.

Depending on what time of day it wakes me up, I either lie under the covers paralyzed with terror, heart pounding, sure that my death is near, or groggy and sleep-logged, blinking in the sunlight, waiting for whoever’s at my door to call out “Katje, wake the fuck up!”

But neither ever happens. The silence stretches, and I either go back to sleep eventually, or get up and start going about my day.

Knock, knock, knock, from some invisible creature, some specter that lives here too. Knock, knock, knock, asking me to acknowledge its presence. Knock, knock, knock, from whatever haunts my dreams, the ones I can’t remember, the ones that still terrify me. Knock knock knock: they’re here in the real world now.

Knock, knock, knock.

Wake up.

You’re no longer dreaming.

Life without spoons is actually okay right now

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Friday wiped me out.

Overall it was a good day. The positives outweighed the negatives. Or they didn’t, and I’m just in a place in my life where the positives have more of an effect on me than the negatives do. Friday was my first Zoloft day after a week without, because I’d run out of my first month of pills. That may have something to do with it.

But it wiped me out. I slept for twelve hours today. I got nothing done when I did wake up, because I was tired enough to go back to sleep. And I had weird dreams. The only one I really remember in any detail involved my boyfriend driving my car, which would never happen because it’s too small for him. The car was FULL of my stuff, which is basically still true because moving never ends, and we were on the highway and he was bitching about really needing to go to the bathroom. I finally convinced him to pull over so he could relieve himself by the side of the road, and while he did that, some weird dude came up to the car and started trying to open doors to steal my stuff. So I got out of the car and beat him to death with my cane.

And then I woke up and discovered I had to pee. Funny how our brains work.

On Friday, my car broke down, I slipped and fell, torquing my back out of alignment even more, and then twisted my ankle later on in the evening — it still hurts — and in general I was already feeling crappy physically and emotionally, because a). whoever designed the human body so that some humans will have terrible pain and cramps and bloating and general feeling-like-shit once a month or thereabouts and some humans will not is the DEVIL, and b). there will always be people on the internet who will piss me off and/or trigger me.

Nevertheless, I did have a pretty good day on Friday, despite all that. I saw the 200th show put on by Screaming Chickens Theatrical Society, which was a Taboo Revue — a night of burlesque. There were a few things in the show that really bugged me (a sideshow portion that involved something that’s probably really not good for other former cutters to watch, and one of the new dancers has a name that includes an anti-trans* slur that’s also been reclaimed by many trans* people — but I have no idea if he’s trans* or not, so there are some complicated emotions there for me), but overall I had a really good time. I got to wear my fancy gold dress, and some fancy gold makeup. Any day I can do that is a good day.

I also sold a book! I brought along a copy of Bellica on a whim, thinking I’d maybe show it to one of my burlesque friends. And Star Buxom, who is one of the most amazing burlesque performers I’ve ever seen and a really incredible person all around, bought it! The best part? I got to sign it using her back as a table. I feel like a big-time star author now.

Afterwards, Ogre took me out to dinner at Denny’s. This was probably the best part of the evening, because I got to build my own burger. That’s right — Denny’s now has a build your own burger option. I got to have two types of cheese, bacon, onions, lettuce, and sour cream on a burger. On potato bread. With no tomatoes or pickles. It was magically delicious. They even let me name it, and I told Ogre we have to name one of our kids after this magical, beautiful burger.

I called it Burger of Enrampagement.

I regret nothing.

Anyway.

Today I spent recouping spoons, and I’ll probably spend a good portion of tomorrow doing that too. My fall on Friday hurt me harder than I thought.

But I can’t help but be grateful. Because if the low-points of my life right now are as mild as all this, then you know what? Life is frigging fantastic. And it’s only going to get better.