I collapsed yesterday.
I had barely slept the night before (and many nights preceding) but, even so, when I got up I started my day as usual; coffee outside, morning writing, and considering my “to do” list. I came inside and trolled the web. I tried to write.
Other than a blog entry, I failed. By early afternoon I was in my bed, cuddled by my husband pillow, watching “Days of Our Lives” – never a good sign – and I fell asleep. I woke to some talk-show, channel-surfed until I came upon a “Merlin” marathon and the day was over. I watched it, sort of, but waiting for the rampant homo-erotic tension between Merlin and Arthur to actually be acted upon just exhausted me further because it reminded me that among the many projects I have going (and not going) are three incomplete versions of my own take on the Camelot legend wherein the homo-erotic tensions are acted upon; my male-on-male sort of “Mists of Avalon.”
I considered getting out of bed and re-visiting those projects. I considered heading to my storage unit and looking for my copies of “The Mists of Avalon” and other Camelot-themed novels and research books (there is at least one entire box) to add to the piles of books stacked around my bedroom and batcave-office-space mocking me because I haven’t yet read them. But, instead, I spent the afternoon napping through the rest of the marathon, once again hearing that nagging voice in my head. Sometimes she just will not leave me the hell alone.
And yesterday was one of those days. So, perhaps it’s a good thing I slept. I had a dream about the idiot Jonas brothers. I know,right? Even in sleep I have lost my dignity. I blame the anchovies on the pizza I had wakened and stirred long enough to order. In this dream, the two attractive Jonas brothers, careers floundering, were…… asking me why they were unhappy. As they asked, they hung all over me; touchy-feely, manipulative-faux-erotic, but never quite crossing the line into actual exchange of sexual affection. I answered their questions.
I did my dream-guru-guide thing and explained that they had confused the image of who they thought they had to be with the truth of who they really were, and that the space between those two things was the size of their unhappiness; that “success” and “failure” were symbols of symbols which would come to mean nothing once they had the courage to love who they loved and live their truths. Flashing lights of “a-ha” moments went off. The Jonas boys left me to enjoy the happy endings I’d made possible for them, and, as so often happens in my dreams, I was left there, having thought that there would be a relationship between us, a connection fulfilled, that facilitating their happiness would bring me some of my own. Instead, they went away. I was alone. Drained. I hate these dreams. And these lives.
But there it is. Well, was.
I’ll survive. I’m tough. More Merlin than Arthur. Tricks up my sleeve and magic that – in all likelihood – no one will ever understand. So, I guess the batcave is sort of a crystal cave too; all my stories and enchantments make me who I am, but they also set me apart. Which is what it is. And here I am . . . going.