A Broken Crow

when i'm the most stressed, i can feel it while i sleep.
in the past, when the end-of-term work began to pile up around me, i would dream that i was at work. but not real work. hellish-nightmare work. a job i no longer did. a job that i wasn't very good at. a job i had hated with every fibre of my being.
last summer, when iain was diagnosed with cancer, i dreamt about the greek house.
my days were filled with tests and charts and words i didn't understand, but my nights were filled with dirty tables, ketchup smears, wrong orders and no tips.
every night i became a waitress against my will.
i would dream that i had to take the orders, cook the food, tend the bar and the cash and bus the tables all by myself. i would get everything wrong.
there would be no clean dishes. something would be burning in the kitchen.
i was confused, scared, dirty, alone.
every fucking night i dreamt this. why?
was this my concern while my boyfriend began a heavy chemotherapy regimen? a waitressing job that i had quit almost a year ago? clearly not.
it's all below the surface. it's all just simulacra, right?
an image that is a symbol for a feeling that is not tangible...but i digress.

the point is, i've discovered a new kind of stress dream.
i've begun to dream about my graduation, this coming may.
last night, as i lay less than peacefully in bed, i find myself in my highschool gymnasium. everyone is wearing shimmering gold and red gowns, but i can't recognize any of the faces. blurred and pixelated, like an episode of cops.
i am pushed into a line of people and told that i am late.
late for what? i can't remember.
everyone is staring. then i realize, it's my fucking graduation from kings.
i completely forgot. how could i forget? fuck. i also forgot to go to the rehearsal. double fuck. endless eternal fuck.
feeling frantic, i look down to discover that i had also forgotten to pick up my gown. i am wearing some sort of burlap dress. (in these dreams, this would be the point that i look down and realize i'm naked, so i consider this a lucky detail.)
i look stupid, i don't match, but i go up on stage with everyone else. i figure, i'll just try to blend into the background and get my diploma and get the fuck out of here.

but then the music starts.
it's 'thriller', by michael jackson and the mass of red and gold gowns begins to sway in unison. my nightmare has just worsened exponentially.
there is an obviously choreographed song and dance number that i was supposed to learn in rehearsal and didn't.
i want to get off the stage, but it's too late.
the dance number has started and i must fake the steps, burlap dress and all.
i perform badly.
so badly, in fact, that my diploma is torn up and it is decided that i am not allowed to graduate after all.

which i think is totally unfair.
because with a little more time, i could have fucking nailed that dance routine.

i just finished my paper for my fairy tales seminar.

which means i'm done all my school work.

which means i'm done my undergrad.

weeeirrrrd.

Someone messed with the 'Help Wanted' sign outside of Tony's Pizza.

It now reads: Elf Wanted
Expert Pizza Cook
Inquire Within

I don't know why, but I thought this was fucking hilarious.

oh oh oh my god. the rock.
it was ear-splitting, face-melting, pants-wetting rock.
the bartenders called me 'clancy's girl' and laughed at how my face barely peered over the counter top. i felt like a little kid at a grown-up party, but i swore i was legal.
so much fuel leads to so much fire.
and then you came. and you. and you.
and holy fuck i'm excited now motherfuckers.
i spilled a whole draft onto my own lap.
i thrashed until my face hurt.
i could feel the guitar solos in my teeth.
and i know what you're thinking.

that is fucking sexy.

well it was.

i walk through campus after dark every monday night and this week, it was like they knew. all of them. the buildings. i wouldn't be back. soon enough i would be leaving for good.

i look at them and i don't know what to say.
i feel like we're breaking up, after five good years together.
it's not you, it's me. it's all this time passed.
it's twenty credits and a full transcript and something that someone, somewhere will actually call a degree and it will have my name on it. my name.
we've outgrown each other i guess.
we've fizzled, we've lost that spark that used to excite and challenge me.
we've grown apart, you and i.
you've taught me everything you can teach me.
and don't think i'm not grateful, but
my feelings for you have changed over the years.
i don't trust you anymore.
you don't make me feel safe.
you make me feel worn and old and misplaced.
i'm finished the test but i don't know any of the answers.
i'd like to go back and do this differently.
i'd say the right things and feel what i'm supposed to feel.
maybe then there would have been a chance for us, you know?
but now it's too late.
and i have to go.
i hope you understand.

call me?

i guess i've been away, keeping my words to myself.
but just last night the pressure finally did me in.
all those words, maturing like wine, bubbled through my cracked, dry lips.
spilled over my feet and left me dirty and smiling.

my boyfriend almost has hair again. almost.