I’ve lost my blogging rhythm. I used to have one, but I don’t any more. Now my blogs just erupt spontaneously.
After writing about depression, I felt a little depressed. That surprised me. I spent a lot of myself writing that story. When I finished, I thought maybe I finally got all of these words inside of me on the outside of me. I felt empty; like I was actually done.
I thought, well then. I guess I finally have blogging out of my system. Soon I will be saying, “Remember when I used to blog all the time? I was so weird back then.”
A couple of days after I published my Depression Story, I felt more words starting to slowly pile up again. Not words to change anybody’s world. Just more like another purge of random nonsense. Those kind of purges are soothing for me.
Maybe I’m sick?
Just a sec. I have to go Google something.
SHUT the FRONT DOOR!!! This is a thing. I knew it. I’m suffering from an illness. And, you didn’t believe me?! Maybe this will teach you trust my instincts. Especially when it comes to impending doom. I always have my money on that.
Hypergraphia is a behavioral condition characterized by the intense desire to write. Forms of hypergraphia can vary in writing style and content. It is a symptom associated with temporal lobechanges in epilepsy, which is the cause of the Geschwind syndrome, a mental disorder.Structures that may have an effect on hypergraphia when damaged due to temporal lobe epilepsy are the hippocampus and Wernicke’s area. Aside from temporal lobe epilepsy, chemical causes may be responsible for inducing hypergraphia.
Now I don’t understand most of that definition, nor did I read anything but the first sentence. But, what is pretty obvious (when you read between the lines) is that this writing disease is fatal. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry again. I know we’ve become friends.
I shall make this vow to you: I shall keep writing and writing and writing things for you, until I die from it. You have my word and my honor.
Wow. Things just got real serious. Real fast.
One of the things I felt so compelled to write about was Olivia’s dream. Scott doesn’t like it when we talk about dreams. He’s so literal; he abhors drama. Dreams are dramatic. I think when we explain our dreams to Scott, he mistakenly thinks that that WE are being dramatic. Like we have a choice about what our subconscious conjures up while we sleep.
I have been in the middle of telling Scott about how I gave birth to his little son who actually turned out to be a monkey, and Scott will just cut me off. He doesn’t want to hear another word.
I’m like, “Just let me tell you the part about how we bravely overcame our disappointment in our monkey son, and how we embraced him instead. We gave him a home, Scott. That should mean something to you.”
Nope. He doesn’t care.
I am very interested in dreams.
Olivia has been on edge lately because, well, sometimes she hears the news. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but lately the news IS terrifying. If I were writing a serious blog today, I might point out that if hearing about the terror happening on another continent is enough to give us nightmares, I wonder how it is affecting the victims actually experiencing it.
I know that I can’t actually know how good I have it. It’s impossible to appreciate it adequately.
So, here is the dream: Olivia dreamed that the enemy/terrorists stormed the United States. The terrorists came into our home with guns. They pointed them at us and said, “If you praise God, we will kill you. If you praise the Devil, you will live.”
Then, the terrorists said, “Get on your knees. If you face East, you are praising God. If you face the West, you are praising the Devil. If you praise the Devil, we will let you live.”
Of course, we all folded our hands, and faced God’s direction together. Then, at the last minute I yelled, “Wait. Wait. Don’t kill me. I’m going to face the Devil’s direction.”
WHAATT???? Are you kidding me, Olivia?
So, that dream is simultaneously terrifying and humorous. Terrifying, because people really are executed for their beliefs. Not in some weird era of history either. Right now. Humorous, because I thought maybe my daughter had more confidence in me. Apparently, she thinks it will take approximately 15 seconds to break me.
That makes me nervous, because I have been known to crumble under pressure. Let’s just say nobody’s every accused me of being overly courageous.
I’m glad Olivia gave me this horrifying plot to think about. I’m going to visualize and practice bravery in my mind. For the record, I’m totally a God worshiper.
I’m also going to ask God if there would please be another, slightly less scary way to end my time here. Like a writing disease, or something like that.