And when I fall asleep I don’t think I’ll survive the night

27 08 2010

Everyone dies, and everyone was dying.

It was the end of the world, gently. People were falling over and dying, everyone, and everyone knew their own ends were soon, and instead of hysteria and rioting we were going out restaurants and laughing on our barstools and everyone was well-lit (as in the lighting was good but maybe also a little drunk) and in a really good mood.

A bit of melancholy, but mostly a resigned good cheer.

At one point I felt the heaviness in my chest and I crept behind a plywood wall and lay on shaded grass next to a wooden bench and thought Okay, this is it, and the only thing that felt wrong was that I was all alone. We were all dying and it seemed we should die together.

I wasn’t afraid or angry or anything but accepting; it was not a bad feeling.

But then I started to write and I thought, Well, wait a minute, let me try to write before I die, so I got up and was writing on the wall and then on boards and then I thought I need another marker. I got on a bus to take me to a place to get that marker and the bus started careening all over the place and everyone was laughing and I realized that this was a crash bus (it had specific name which I can’t remember) and I had to get off. Not yet, I said, not yet. So when we passed a patch of grass I launched myself off the bus and landed and rolled and when I looked up the people on the bus were laughing and giving me the thumbs up and saying Way to go, Radio.

Radio? I was confused and thought that maybe that had something to do with something I said on the radio. I didn’t know anyone had heard.

Was I afraid to die, was that why I left the bus? I was more worried about the crashing, the injury, than death. Still, I wanted to write.

I ended up in a lab run by the guy who played Michael on LA Law and his young assistant and I said I needed markers and the assistant gave me a small marker which didn’t work and Michael said No, no, she needs a real marker and he gave me a couple and I started writing then and there on whatever wood I could find.

I knew I wouldn’t finish but I thought There has to be a record, someone has to write something down before we’re all gone. Michael and the assistant and the other people in the lab were all working on why we were all dying and they were all smiling, gentle and resigned and still working.

Is this how it is? Wouldn’t there be violence and mayhem and denial and wouldn’t we do anything wreck anything to get away from our end? But no it was like a charmed party nearing its end which we didn’t want to leave but knew the evening had finally come to a close.

So I was back to writing in block letters because it was a thick marker and my penmanship is terrible and I wanted to make sure you could read it and I wondered if other people were writing. I hope other people remembered to write about our end.

And then my chest got heavier and heavier and then I woke up.




6 responses

27 08 2010

You gave me goosebumps!

27 08 2010

you know one of the less pleasant parts of being an analyst is that some people think that they have to tell you their dreams, which while being emotionally charged experiences for them are a bit lacking on the retelling, but this is quite engaging (and hopefully not too haunting for you), i loved the tangentiality of the radio, thanks for sharing.
reminds me that the difference between the quick and the dead is often a distinction to be made among the living

28 08 2010

@HF I hope that’s a good thing. . . . And thanks for stopping by!

@dmf Ha. When I was in therapy I never talked about my dreams—much to the dismay of my therapist. I said they were simply effluvia from the day and not worth much, but she thought there were perhaps nuggets of revelation amidst the stream.

Ah, therapy. Tremendously helpful, tremendously grateful for it, don’t miss it at all.

28 08 2010

That is a good thing, fear not : ) And…you’re welcome!

29 08 2010

as em.d. said “you cannot solder an Abyss with Air”, freud was wrong about many things including dreams but he was quite right that therapy is work and not something to be mourned or without end.
glad that yours went well there is so much bad therapy being practiced out there, hard not to think of orwell when one sees terms like
“behavioral management” being applied to human-beings, or are we all
human-resources these days?

31 08 2010

Did you ever watch Battlestar Galactica? What you wrote here, strangely, reminds me of the scene at the end of season 3, on that lonely, desolate beach…

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