Waking up from the dead

February 6, 2010 at 8:58 pm Leave a comment

I was asleep for a ridiculous amount of time: 19 hours since Friday evening. In those 19 hours of sleep, I have dreamt of four scenarios: wandering through a Japanese hotel, stealing animal-shaped chocolate in skewers, a funeral, flying off roofs with a gargoyle of a vampire and levitating in a church wearing the laced gala uniform of my bygone elementary school days.

Oh, the bliss of sleep when you are too sad to stay awake.

I once had a German girl for a room mate and one Saturday afternoon, I woke up with her sitting next to me on my bed with a broken smile written across her face.

Konstanze: It’s your depression again, isn’t it?
Me: What made you say that?
Konstanze: Because I know of it. You sleep to escape. I am the same way.

K suffered from anxiety attacks and our own discovery of being under the same medication commenced a relationship akin to something blood sisters would have shared.

I would sleep for 19 hours straight and I would wake up with K’s apparition next to me going: It’s your depression again, isn’t it?

♥ ♥ ♥

I love burlesque artist/model/fashion icon Dita Von Teese.

She married freak Marilyn Manson in 2005, only to serve him the divorce papers in 2007, never seeking spousal support nor ever displaying interest for his monetary assets.

Dita epitomizes the independent, out-for-number-one girl in me. The red lipstick and corsets may have to take the backseat for now, though.

♥ ♥ ♥

I haven’t written in SO long. My blog portal, suspiciously, is inaccessible at my work place and I endured the frustration of having my laptop’s LCD display in total malfunction mode for three eternity-it-seemed weeks. Just imagine my anxiety.

But now I am back, back, back.

And I have two writing competitions to bother about. I am sick with joy and I am stoked. And for now, my face before the blue light of my computer, the muse alive and my fingers busy on the keyboards, I am alive.

(Speaking of the word ‘Alive’, I remember going to a charismatic prayer meeting in a student cafeteria across home with my maternal grandmother when I was about four of five. People were all over the place standing on top of chairs, some waving arms in the air, some simply standing huddled in a corner, mouthing words to the song ‘Jesus is Alive’.

My grandmother, now and then, would coerce me to join in the charismatic singing. I would refuse and sit still on my chair, sucking on iced fruits in a plastic tube.

Then I would come home confused, thinking about school lessons on Jesus dead for centuries and the happy people at the cafeteria singing otherwise.

And it took a lot of convincing for me to believe in something even at five.)

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Entry filed under: journals, musings.

JD Salinger, 91. We are all made of stars

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