Well, I am home again, but I also make a home here in insomnia, so here I write. I had a long weekend of traveling. I did not go where I wanted to roam.
:( I am not a fan of Orlando, but that’s where I was resigned to---riding roller coasters and meeting Barney. Yes, I have met the purple dinosaur. Jealous? I was scheming going somewhere else completely, away from my mommy obligations, thereby doing that whole spontaneity thing I am supposed to do, by order of the dream journal, but once again---all of the dreams were put on hold for the sake of my daughter’s dreams....or her childhood...one in the same at this stage. It was her birthday, we threw down at the Hard Rock in Orlando to celebrate. Aurora thinks she is a rock star and mommy dreams of rock stars so maybe it will all intersect in a massive rainbow of life eventually.

I realize now my life is just a giant roller coaster. Sometimes it feels I am flying with my hands waving carefree through the Aquarius air, while on other dangerous turns, I am only holding on for dear life with my nails digging into the arm rail and have no say in how fast or what direction the ride is taking me. Some days become like an irritating wedgie you cannot fix and have no choice but to take the curves as they come, completely uncomfortable and dancing on the edge of embarrassment. Similar to life, while on an actual roller coaster, I think about the angels. I imagine the great magnitude of their love, of their observations of which I sometimes get to see. When the seeing stops, I am rendered to another dreamless sleep. Rare, but I do still experience this momentary loss of vision. After I awake, there is no determination to my spirit, there is just the wear and tear sustained in result of the ride itself. The free falling feeling, the feeling of falling in love, is fleeting at best and I know not whether to bask in the blankness of the dream journal or develop dreamer’s anxiety, fretting that the absence of my night life may come to mean that I have nothing left in life to prepare for, no more flips or hurls, just a sudden drop off that shall never again see the climb.

Distraction from the constant charge and change of tracks is the only service to sanity. In rare form, my hands are up again and I am exhilarated with the thrill of life. But rare is rare and like a pearl, it is easily lost or misplaced. My motherhood is not only a blessing, but it has distracted me from all the pain, from myself. The pearl of motherhood isn't something I am capable of losing, it's the homegrown gem that keeps growing no matter the external irritation. The awareness it lives inside is one of the only faculties of life that offers some feeling of purpose anymore. Sense does not even make sense anymore it is a senseless word. Like people confusing my psychic ability with the word "psycho." Yes, I am guilty of wanting to fall in love and using the dreams to do it, so I must be psycho.

God grants us the ability, the merciful grace, to overcome anything, but the most death defying obstacle one must conquer is self. If you can handle yourself, being alone in you, then you can endure any vault the outside may raise. Voluntarily, we board the roller coasters...of career paths...or love. But how are we to be sure if it is safer mounting as a single rider or embarking with another? Sometimes I have to ask, if I am still confined to a single cart after all of this time, have I really overcome myself at all? If I can’t dismiss the sorrow long enough to chase the rainbows my heart spouts across the dreamy sky, then I feel I have failed somehow. It should have subsided, the anguish and antagonizing internal conflict of being mortal, it should know to stay away from me. I can’t even comprehend why I did not shed the sorrow like a tight snake skin and cast it underneath the tracks long ago. It re-presents itself when I have to face all that I am. Which is every single day.

Like love, the happiness never wants to make a home in me for very long. I wish I could say that Jesus and happiness were consistent, but Jesus wept.