reality

All posts tagged reality

To all Intensive Porpoises

Published April 22, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Like Dot Bunny, I grow weary of stating the obvious.

One of the things I love about working with kids is that no matter how much your own personal nonsense wears you down, a child can usually get you out of it because they simply do not care about anything but the now.

Like Ms. Dot Bunny. She is the protagonist of the story “Wolfie the Bunny”. In the story, Dot’s family finds a wolf cub on their doorstep. Mama and Papa Bunny are charmed by everything Wolfie does. Dot, the voice of reason, keeps saying, “But he’s going to eat us all up!”  This is a recurring theme throughout the story.

I don’t want to ruin the ending for you, but I have to say that I sympathize with Dot.

A child came up to me today and said, “Do you have any missing bookmarks?” Before that could entirely snap my head off, I asked if she needed a bookmark. This was an easily solved problem.

As I have mentioned, I am not entirely sure that I didn’t die on July 27, 2003, and am simply working my way out of purgatory. It would explain a lot. I pushed forward this theory in a previous posting, citing the factoid that anyone who has ever been in a coma can’t ever, that’s right EVER be entirely certain what reality is framing their existence.  That also explains a lot.

The last couple of days I worked with a woman who was in a coma for five days and made a complete recovery. I found a gracious way to say, “Oh Yeah? Me, too!”  Our conversation drifted around this whole structured reality business and somehow we meandered to the topic of the Berenstain Bears (Oh, don’t act like you’re so surprised.)

I asked her if she remembered them as the Berenstein Bears. She did, as did I. Then we both looked at the cover of one of the books. It’s Berenstain. There is a school of thought that says the reason that some of us remember Berenstein, vs Berenstain is that on some strain of reality the bears were Stein.

Now here’s the quandry, if the two coma survivors have the same shared reality in which the Bears were Berenstein, are we occupying the same circles of purgatory? And then I think of my youngest niece who would simply point out that Papa Bear is kind of a Jack Ass.

On a related note, as I was processing this information I had an revelation, an epiphany if you will. Time and again I have expressed gratitude for my recovery, but likened it to receiving a Ronco Tato Twister.  It’s a nice gift, but what am I supposed to do with it.  While I don’t know the specifications for the big picture, I do know what my purpose is for the tiny part of the picture that is the now. But, shh. It’s a secret.

How do I tell if this panic is abject?

Published February 22, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

The weirdness of my conscious brain is only out crazied by my unconscious brain. (Suspend, for a moment, my general understanding that my post-coma brain still can’t determine whether or not I’m in an agreed upon reality or perhaps dead and am I trying to get myself out of purgatory.

When I’m asleep, my brain decides to go all “Eye of the Tiger” and find some weird crap to haunt my waking hours.

The other night I dreamed that my dearly departed friend Steve handed me a fish to give to Anderson Cooper.  We were at a party in a house that often appears in my dreams. The house is an amalgam of I house I lived in when I was first married and of the house I grew up in, spliced together with a house owned by my Aguilar relatives for many years, and the large front room of Steve’s house.

We were hosting a party and for some reason their were many fish, some cooked, some in a display and some just hanging around in a tub full of ice. Steve handed me a fish (raw with head) to take to Anderson Cooper who was upstairs milling around in the parlor.

I have no idea where that came from and as I pondered this I discovered that Harper Lee had passed away.

Now Steve and I often likened our friendship to that of Harper (Nell) Lee and Truman Capote.

It would not at all surprise me if these three got together and gave my brains a gentle poke to influence my dream. I think Faulkner had a hand in that as a fish played a large part in my favorite work of his. In it the fish symbolized death.

While that is, indeed, weird I had an even stranger dream. In this one, my Amanda Friend’s husband, AOG had entrusted me to take care of his 32 foot black python.  (You may be thinking, “Freud much?” But you wouldn’t if you knew him.) Now for some reason I was in the front room of the aforementioned house and I was watching cats gambol about in the backyard. (The backyard was Steve’s)  I got so distracted by the cats that I completely forgot about the python. For days. The python did not starve to death, but did die of thirst and when AOG showed up, I had to find the dried python husk, and for some reason I thought that pouring water on it would help.  AOG was very nice about it but clearly I was at fault.

I woke up with an intense feeling of panic.

Then I read about how well Trump did in the latest caucus. I’m not trying to be funny.   I then went and told my roommate that I would get the vodka if he would find some chocolate cheesecake because apparently the end is nigh.

My parochial education tells me that no one knows the time and place of the second coming. I just want enough of a heads up to sip some Grey Goose Orange and have a rich dessert.

I somehow think too much fat and sugar is going to be the least of our concerns in the very near future.

Strange World

Published January 28, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

It’s a little bizarre out here in the First World.

I was raised Catholic, complete with Catholic School K-12 and I have received all of the Sacraments except for Matrimony and Holy Orders. (Long story with lots of standing and sitting.)

This background means that I have a glitchy and permanent guilt button installed snugly in at the base of my throat, right where my Miraculous Medal can give it poke.

That being said, I get a bit twitchy when I complain about something that is a non-problem. I am fully aware that my complaints pale in comparison with, oh say, the struggle for food, shelter and clean water.

Complaint the first: My electronics are conspiring to keep me from watching the reboot of the X-Files.  I am an X-Files fan and I even have a baseball jacket that my father gave me that commemorates the X-Files Expo  and I have seen not one, not two, but three different homeless people wearing that jacket.  I had to point out that they were separate occasions so no one will think that somewhere there is a street performance of Jersey Boys. Which, come to think of it, would probably be pretty terrific.

Anyway, I have been trying to watch the first episode of the X-Files for over a week. Every time I try to watch, Hulu encounters a glitch and won’t let me reboot so that I may watch it.  Now I’m two episodes behind.

Complaint the second: Since I have been surviving by subbing and side-gigging (alliteration always available), I am a bit foggy on what is happening in the regular, work-a-day world. Every morning I watch the previous days news via The Daily Show and The Nightly Show and Good Morning America.  This can be tricky since it lends to general feeling of having been abducted by Time Weasels.

I woke up this morning fairly certain that it is Thursday. I know this because I teach my theatre class on Monday’s and Wednesday’s.  I have no idea what the date is until I look at my email. So this morning, I sat down with my banana and giant glass of water (I make myself drink 32 oz of water before I commence to guzzling coffee.)  Then I turned on my computer and pulled up Hulu so I can start listening to the recap of news while I begin my day.  The Daily Show said Thursday January 27th. It took me five minutes to determine that it was a mistake on their part and should have said Wednesday the 27th and that today is Thursday the 28th.  For several moments I didn’t know if I had completely missed a day or if I was watching news from the future.

I wonder if this is a time weasel prank or just my tenuous hold on reality. Perhaps I should just drink some coffee.

First World Problems.

Hecho o la realidad o la fidelidad

Published April 25, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

The following definition comes to you courtesy of the good people at Wikipedia:

Truth is most often used to mean in accord with fact or reality,[1] or fidelity to an original or to a standard or id For other uses, see Truth (disambiguation).eal.[1]

This leads me to ask the question, what other use could I possibly have for truth? And, why is truth more than one thing?

I have been getting tension headaches that start in the back of my neck and slowly migrates up to rest comfortably across my forehead, kind of like a full pressure helmet, that protects me from nothing. (I know, I know, didn’t I just write something about how fabulous B.C. headache powder is? Yes, but there is so much caffeine in it that if I take it after 3 PM, I will more thank likely never sleep again. )

As I worked my way through the last part of Gated Grief,  I realize what make be causing all of the tension.

Dr. Phil said on a recent show, (I love Dr. Phil, especially now that he’s getting sassy.) “There is no reality, just your perception of reality.  I have to say, it did take me most of the day to process.  It is true that writers and actors and directors take their perception of the script, which provides the facts and given circumstances to create the reality.

This gets confusing when one is trying to build a reality out of the facts of history, as Leila Levinson does in Gated Grief and as Helen Epstein does in  Where She Came From, the book I’m about to begin. They both are taking what facts they have to reconstruct a reality so that they can know the truth, and in turn, know their parents.  They want to to have an immediate understanding of who there parents were.

I will read more than one book at a time (not simultaneously, wise guys.)  My mind can’t unwind without reading something.  Now that I am constantly processing thought, most of my “dessert reading” is rereading some of my past favorites.

It occurred to me that I do this because I have a hard time finding a story that compels me. The characters don’t have to be particularly likeable, I’m not a big fan of Christian Grey, but he was by far the best character in that whole disgrace to erotica.

I am constantly in search of the truth and a good story, maybe they will be the same thing. Until then, I will be here under the tension helmet. (Worst Album title ever)