Huntress of the Lens


Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Where's Waldo and the married carrot

I'm sure my two or possibly three regular readers notice when there are gaps in my blog sequence. There was that real doozy between October and just the other day, and then the intermittent day or two here and there since I've been back at it. Upon much inner reflection I've decided that I skip days when I either feel depressed or don't feel I have anything profound or extremely intelligent to say. I secretly feel like my blog is like a pre-flight instrument check, and if the wings appear shaky I won't authorize the plane to leave the ground. I can be so full of myself. 

I just woke from a really sad/angry/childishly-rebellious/time travel dream that I just can't seem to shake, so I'm not even sure how this blog will turn out. Actually, I never really know how they will end up, I just write a sentence and off I go. My dream was filled with famous people, but they were actually in my family, and I wasn't sure if they were actually in my family or it was a movie about my life and they were playing parts in it. Awake, I can say for sure that Brad Pitt, Susan Sarandon and Oprah were all there, but there were many more. 

Oprah with a freshly pulled carrot, dirt still clinging to it, asking "Can't you still smell the earth on her? She's ready." In a garden setting that would make sense, but we were at a wedding and she was referring to the bride being old enough to marry. Maybe it was a fertility thing, I knew she and Maya Angelou had discussed it before hand. 

It was a wedding at a camp ground, where everyone had arrived in old-school campers like my Auntie Rita and Uncle Bob used to have. She was there, but Uncle Bob was absent. It was Brad's compassionate eyes I looked into when I asked the question "When were they going to tell me that my Uncle Bob died?" "He was always a favorite of yours, I know." Brad is very compassionate, and his eyes will well up with tears even if he doesn't actually cry when you talk to him about things that hurt your heart.

I had arrived back at my childhood through a place where you could time travel right up through the center of a lake, and then walk across the water to the shore without even being wet. This is how I got back to my childhood, but I had no idea how to cross the other way. As in many dreams I was my adult mind in a child's body and subject to the rules and whims of dream authority. I was supposed to make the cake, but couldn't do it right. It was a wedding in a camp-ground, how white trash is that? The last straw was when I was told that it was my job to escort Dottie "The mother of the bride*" to her seat before the ceremony. It all falls apart after that, I never did get a chance to thank Brad for his sympathy and understanding.

*I am Dottie's only child, if she was the "mother of the bride" but the bride wasn't me, who was getting married, a carrot? Such is the way of dreams.

What I have just spent four and a half paragraphs avoiding as my topic is smoking. This project isn't going so well. Without a lot of details or excuses, let me just say that my methods of quitting equalled me wearing a 21 mg. patch, chewing 2 mg. gum and guiltily smoking anyway. For those of you who haven't tried it, this is not an effective way to quit smoking. This is an effective way to feel slightly nauseous and like a completely guilty failure. I also have an irrational fear that the adhesive from the patch will somehow alter the colors of my tattoos (there's not much undecorated  skin on my arms to put one) but that's not even relevant, just something to laugh at. An addict's mind will grasp at any straw.

I'm just smoking again, but I threw away my damn car ashtray. Maybe I'll try not to smoke in the car and pretend that it means something. Basically this has been one big blog about a dream I had and the fact that I'm full of shit. Oh well, you get what you get.

Just got off the phone with a new friend and we were discussing a million things. I'm guessing that if you pay attention and look for clues you will not only answer the question  "Where's Waldo?" but see something very exciting shaping up right here in my little life.

Ciao Dahlings, I'm going to smoke with no patch today.

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