Every day for the last five days, and most days back until December 10th at a casual glance, there has been a hit a day on this blog.
Who are you? What are you looking for? What have you found that speaks to you? What are you rereading?
Talk to me. Let’s make this a conversation.
I woke up at 6:30am this morning from a very detailed dream. I was at at an office or hotel or resort or something (spa resort? Who knows) with conifers around. There was a pregnant woman who went into labor; she was younger, brown hair, and frightened. There was a midwife around, but she seemed less involved in things and I got the impression she was more inclined to call an OB/surgeon. The impending mother went to lie down on her back and I told her that she didn’t need to do that, to move around as she was comfortable, and I would stay with her. She did so, spent some time on all fours, and then abruptly moved to a crouch; she was sort of on a low platform/table thing, and I was on the actual floor. The baby started to be born, a boy — frank breech. I remembered what I knew about birthing breech babies and simply held my hands under to catch him, and coached the mother through the last push. The baby was born in caul (membranes intact), and I held him up to his mother. His eyes were open, he was calm, and he seemed to be returning her kiss. I parted the membrane over his face so that he could start breathing (umbilical still attached, not cut) and told his mother that she should feel proud and not afraid because she had just given birth to a healthy baby boy… breech and unmedicated and with no problems. I made a comment to the midwife (who had been standing back and watching) that OBs really need to be trained in delivering breech again, since it’s not that hard. I then stepped back and realised that this was the first birth that I had attended/midwifed myself (besides my own), and it was an uneventful breech, and was very pleased with and proud of myself. The entire end of things was joyful and calm and happy, and I woke smiling.
A second dream after I went back to sleep involved me somehow talking to the baby himself, from a perspective inside the uterus. I told him to remember to keep his chin tucked down and everything would be okay; he was very happy and looking forward to being born. I reminded him to keep his chin tucked, and a few minutes after that he was being born.
A very odd pair of dreams, but I do think that if I tire of satellites I may switch to midwifery.
Things are… moving along. I’ve hit the point in Handling the Bad Thing that I have to be on lockdown with some of what I say, so I won’t say much about that here past that I’ve had to make some very heavy decisions after talking to police. Everything I do will have repercussions now.
I’ve got my back yard to a place where I’m actively looking forward to having folk over. I’m even planning a party! I have places to sit, I have shade and sun, I have plenty of room, I have a rose garden… I’m pleased with things. It’s a very peaceful and comforting and safe-feeling place to be now.
As for my rose garden, the only one that’s having trouble “taking” is Peace; this might be because the damned guys who do the lawn keep nailing it with the weed whacker. They’ve already destroyed both lilacs by repeatedly mowing them even after I said to watch out for them. But I do have one of the roses blooming already… Tranquility has one spectacular and fragrant blossom, and three or four more buds ready to open.
But now, I think, I would like to sit in my back yard with a book, and a cup or two of tea, and good company.
So vasovagal syncope happened.
This is the clinical term for flat-out fainting. There are many causes, and I’ve had issues with it before but not since I was pregnant with my daughter seven years ago. This go-round appears to be triggered by not taking care of myself as I should have been the last month and change, low potassium levels, and an emotional shock stronger than most people were aware of, for reasons that pretty much only one person would be aware of.
But I’m taking the clue BEFORE I faint in public again, and trying to take better care now. One hell of a wake-up call.
I am sort of wondering at the levels of crazy I’m noticing coming out of my ex’s camp; I’ve been doing my own thing but getting “pings” now and then, and I have to wonder if people know how they’re looking to others — including neutral parties and bystanders — by this point. There’s been some really irrational activity that’s been brought to my attention, and I’m in a fairly constant state of “ooooookaaaaayyyy… that’s, um, ‘special’, isn’t it?” I’m mostly just doing my own thing. (That said, I will say that if I ever meet a man like my ex in every respect and detail but minus the self-destructive batshit, I will marry him on the spot. Too bad everything I ever wanted, needed, or asked for in a Partner came bundled with a proprietary DRM-locked version of subjective reality and some other-user-unfriendly malware.)
And otherwise… I’m actually doing pretty well. Work has me filling in for my supervisor quite a lot lately, which is nice. I have plans for a firepit in the back yard, and friends to have over to chat and maybe have impromptu jam sessions and generally hang out, a few sweet playmates, a chunk more of debt paid off, and of course my wonderful children, my Best Beloveds.
As I was writing this, I had one of my darkest fears about my daughter confirmed. I’ve suspected for several years now that Something Bad Was Going On, but could never get anyone to LISTEN to me until my last therapist, who helped me get on the road to investigating things. With the help of a new person on the scene who is also looking out for one of my Best Beloveds, independent observation and suspicion was done… and today my daughter actually told me who it was, and that she hadn’t wanted to tell me. I held her close, told her that she is a very good girl for telling me, thanked her, and told her that I will keep her safe from that ever happening again. She’s just fine with never seeing this person again, and is scared but willing to talk to the people who need to be talked to. I finally have the final tool I need to protect my daughter: her assistance. I am having my shitfits today and tonight, and will set forth tomorrow on the path needed, wings spread, flaming sword in one hand, my beloved six-year-old daughter’s in the other to help her walk this path.
A stone floor, unclear if it’s a courtyard or a great hallway, circular. The walls are either shrouded in mist or crumbling. The angelic figure is in the center, nearly prostrate, her right wing broken and nearly gone, blood streaking and smearing the flagstones around her, spattered on her robes and her hands. The armored figure is visible nearby, still not clearly seen in feature, heroic in stature, but holding blood-soaked cloths as though he’d just been trying to stanch the bleeding. The children are barely visible as glimmers behind a wall, peeking over; the angelic figure is angled to shield the worst of her wounds from them.
Looking closer, it becomes apparent that the garments over her breast are rent and torn, as is the flesh under them; it looks like an attempt has been made to tear out her heart with claws and teeth, and the wounds run very deep… deep enough that it’s not clear if the attempt was successful. It also becomes apparent that not all of the blood is hers; there is some under her nails, as though she’s done her own share of clawing and fighting.
Looking at the scene, something about the set of her face, the shadows of her battered and broken wings, a hint of doubt appears. Is she actually an angel? Or something darker? Not demonic, the cast of true darkness or evil isn’t on her, but unease sets in. What do you call an angel without the restriction of being good, but without evil? Angelic and demonic are the same base stock; there is grey between Good and Evil, Dark and Light. Looking at her, awareness of this grows.
Pulling back some to take in the whole scene, outside the edges of the broken walls, there are figures approaching. Their intent isn’t clear, but doesn’t seem overtly malicious. Some, a few, are paused at blockages in the paths; others seem to be looking back at damage in the wood, as though something fled rapidly. Looking down the avenue of damage, there are a few figures walking away… one smirking and seeming to guide the others, a whisper in an ear, pointing back to the clearing.