More than this
Posted on | February 18, 2010 | 6 Comments
The world is white this morning: the sky, the trees, the ground. The pair of crows in the dying maple are cinder stark. The contrast is so abrupt, I almost want to cry. This is what waking up tired feels like now: I am overcome by everything. By the sooty feathers of crows as they lift, circle, fly of cawing. By the way everything starts up again each morning. The washing machine is on the spin cycle. The woodstove is hot with embers. Sprout is fussing in his crib, just frequently enough to let me know he is still awake, between longer stretches of quiet where I forget for a moment where I am, who I am, and feel the way tiredness lifts me outside myself again and then yanks me back, as though today my arms and legs are really the finely wrought pieces of a elaborate marionette doll with someone unskilled and abrupt pulling at the strings.
This is the way the day begins. This is the first day I have to myself in the cycle of the week. The first three are crowded now with work and meeting deadlines, and I always feel a little in shambles by Thursday, here, but not entirely, somehow trailing myself.
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I am Christina Rosalie
Hello. I'm so happy you've stopped by!
I am a multimedia storyteller, digital strategist, idea starter, stalker of wonder, finder of four leaf clovers, MFA graduate student, and mama of boys. My first book,
will be published by SKIRT! Books in September, 2012.
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February 18th, 2010 @ 6:38 pm
I particularly liked the out-of-focus brambles, engendering the notion that (reminding me of the reality that) what we focus on is what’s real. So it is in dreams that seem real, and being awake is something far off, out of focus, gone but not lost: away. And so it is by morning that the thick, cold covers on my bed remind me that there’s another life. Never the two together though, except in those brief moments between, when all my worlds seem like fuzzied brambles: a reminder that — really — there are only the cinder stark crows, preening their claws, and making me want to cry too.
February 18th, 2010 @ 7:20 pm
Have you ever found yourself dislocated just beyond yourself, not awake entirely, but not deeply asleep either?
Oh yes. Sometimes just as I’m falling asleep I realize that I’m hearing phrases that don’t quite make sense. I suppose that’s what dreaming actually sounds like but we make it up into something more coherent the next morning.
I think it’s my logical mind that’s too strong… more than once during a dream I’ve been alerted by some inconsistencies and declared: “but I’m actually not here, I’m in my bed, sleeping” and woken up.
February 18th, 2010 @ 9:00 pm
There’s something so viscerally awful about fatigue, and that bone-jerking snap of sleep to wake is pure torture, especially when you were almost there. Almost.
February 19th, 2010 @ 5:36 am
Hope you have a good night’s sleep tonight.
February 19th, 2010 @ 5:55 am
hi Christina,
I’ve been savoring little snippets of your blog in sweet little moments of my week. Your sister gave me the link. Love this latest post -so feeling it. I’ll look forward to reading more. Your writing is so present and full.
take good care,
Ellen
February 19th, 2010 @ 2:48 pm
I used to see a series of images when I would close my eyes, the same images would pop up everytime – almost like a flip book. Now that rarely happens. And yes, that weird in-between place, where we surrender to sleep…it’s SO much easier to sleep now that I’m a parent, I rarely stay long in the inbetween place.
As for people who claim this skin and bones is all we have, well, you know I have to disagree. This present moment is precious indeed, but I believe in another timeline, too, where a thousand years is like a blink of an eye…