What Do I Do?

I get an hour for lunch every shift. I have to take an hour for lunch or 2 1/2 hours no matter what. I cannot work through my lunch because we are busy and I have work to do and than leave 1/2 hour early. So I do. And I live 5-7 minutes from the store. I have begun to come home for my lunches.

Many would be surprised to learn that I make myself a light lunch. I plug in my phone if it needs to charge and sit myself down in front of the computer. I check my email. I play games on Facebook. I listen to the silence. It is a wonderful thing. I do not answer my phone in this 50 minutes of free time. I think. And I ponder and lately I have been creating.

By nature I am a rather gregarious person. By career, I am a constant talker. Not a stalker although if you pique my interest I might peek around that corner of the aisle just to see what you buy. I talk for 40+ hours a week. Never mind when I run into someone outside of work. Dear lord you would never know that silence is something that I crave.

My brain overloads badly when there is too much noise. When I have no time to breath and everything needs to be completed but oh my god there are line ups! As you can tell I was a little short staffed today. I talk. And talk. And talk and everyone leaves a little bit happier and I am happy too. I made someone smile.

When I come home for my hour lunch it is to regroup. To calm my brain so that we can do the next 2 1/2 hours without my swearing at someone out loud. I will get everything done that I have to. While I do, a small portion of my brain is working on a poem I started this morning. Imagery is of a crazed clown. Not sure where that is coming from but I am going to run with it.

My silence is about to come to an end. Thus I must head back to work. I take a deep breath, grab my phone and out the door I go. I’ll be back because well the crazed clown wants to get loose.

Sibilant Whisper

‘Let me in’ the voice hisses and whistles

‘Let me in’ the claws pick at the door,

slithering and dancing across the floor.

‘Let me in’ it demands despite my desperate fear.

I do not want to acknowledge this demon.

I do not want to give it fear on which to feed.

I suspect,

no, I know that it can be my undoing

For no one shall ever believe.

The voice that rumbles and roils through hell

the heavy footsteps in the hall

A demon begotten from blood and shame

a solitaire single tear.

 

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

May 18/17

Do You like to be Scared?

****As a child, my uncle would tell me about Postavesula, he lived in the upstairs closet near the attic in my grandparents house. Turned out he just didn’t want us going upstairs. My grandfather use to use Postavettula who lived beneath the basement stairs to scare us from going down there. Is it any wonder that I see boogeymen everywhere?’

Yesterday T and me get home after school/work. Soccer had been cancelled due to rain so I was looking forward to a nice evening at home.

We arrive at the apartment, gather up all the bags that are required and head into the apartment. T stops when we get to the bottom of the stairs and looks at me. ‘Did you leave the t.v. on?’ ‘What? You were the last one watching it you were suppose to turn it off!’

We look at one another. Shrug our shoulders. T starts to watch Youtube as I putter around getting supper. I am replaying our morning over in my mind and realize that the television was not on when I came home in between dropping T off and leaving for work myself.

The hairs on the back of my neck start to stand up. Omg there might be a serial killer in the apartment? Would M have come in and watched my t.v. as opposed to laying in the comfort of her own bed? Never (and just so we can be clear, I did ask this question of M.)

Without alerting T, I slink into his room to ensure that 1) his closet doors are still open and 2) there is no one there. So far so good. I enter my room. T.V. borrowed still here, so J did not come and pick up. I stand back from my closet, reach out and push the door open. Jump about two feet when I realize that the satanic clown is not about to jump out from behind my dress and stab me.

Last but not least, I check the linen closet. Thank goodness, I sigh a deep breath of relief, there are no killer clowns in my house.

But wait……I head in to the storage area where the cats litter boxes are. I need to do my daily scoop. It is dark. Only one little light. And nothing under the stairs.

My breath catches in my throat. I can hear breathing, a wet gasping breath coming from beneath the stairs. I squeak and rush back out into the hallway. All of two feet away.

T is sitting at the computer. Nonchalantly I lean against the counter and appraise my eight year old son. Yep, he can do it.

‘Hey buddy. I need you to come with me. But I cannot tell you why. Not until I am done.’

‘Where am I going mom?’

‘I need you to come with me. I have scared myself. But I can’t tell you right now just come with me.’

And he does. Yes my eight year old son is my knight in shining armor. As I hovered over the litter boxes scooping the poop and pee, T is chatting away behind me. About how smelly the big chunks of pee and poop are. And what am I scared of? And are we almost done yet?

Finally I am finished. We head into the kitchen. T looks at me quizzically. Do I, his mother admit that I scared myself with my own imagination? Or do I ask him to just……oh hell gotta admit the truth.

So I did. And T looked at me. Looked at the storage space. Looked at me again and shook his head.

In my defense, when I was a child I was easy to scare. And I may have mentioned before but I love it. Going down the hallway to the bathroom I would turn on my bedroom light, the kitchen light, the light in my mom’s room and just as I was about to hit the light to the bathroom my mom would call ‘Jay, are you okay?’

Every time. And every time she would scare the shit out of me and I would run screaming back down the hallway to her. We would both laugh.

I have an overactive imagination and I can scare myself without even meaning to. Yes I admit that I am using my son as my defender. Yes I admit that I love to scare myself. And it is all in fun. Rationally I knew no one else but us was here, irrationally, a mad clown hid under my steps.

Dreams

I do know that not a lot of people remember their dreams. And I admit that my own dreams are often vague and odd. However there have been a few times where I have had dreams that I remember years later.

First time: I was like nineteen and dreaming about Hawkeye and BJ from M.A.S.H.  I was nineteen in 1991, M.A.S.H. had been off the air for nine years. It was not even as though I was watching reruns as I was sharing an apartment downtown on Hargrave St. with two roommates. We did not even have a television. (Total story for another time) And that dream segued into a dream about my first love at the age of fourteen.

Second time: I had an amazing dream. It had to do with witches, a magic spell book, terror and every time I woke up, I fell right back into the dream when I fell back to sleep. Ogres appeared and Kings and Mages. When I awoke to get ready for work, I was pumped. I had dreamed the entire book. Within fifteen minutes it was gone. Devastated I was. When is anyone ever going to dream a dream like that??????

Third time: Last July. I was brutally sick. I staggered into work at 5:30 a.m. and begged the poor girl who I was training to please work for me. I had my head on the table falling back asleep as she was asking me questions. Summer and here I was wearing a sweater and a jacket. Next day she asked if she could step down. I was horrified but oh man was I ever sick.

I came home and between 6:15 a.m. when I crawled back into bed and until around 4:30 a.m. the next Saturday, I slept the sleep of the ill and dead. M brought me Tylenol, I crawled up the stairs and opened the door, she covered her mouth, dropped the tablets into my hand and ordered me back to bed. There were no dreams.

Until 4:30 a.m. (I actually woke myself up screaming) I had been reading a book in which Shadows played a huge part. No longer remember the book. Also to set the scene, I have had several dreams in which all the light bulbs are blown. No matter which lights I tried, every single one was burned out and there was not a bulb to be found anywhere. (If anyone knows what it means that all lights have burned out with no replacements please let me know. I looked it up on-line and there is no explanation.) I am in a castle. The sky is black, sharp slashes of lightening spearing the air, giving just enough light. Wicked winds blow through, my hair and cloak blinding me. My fingers find a switch and flick it. Nothing. Another slash of lightening. And I realize I am being followed.

For within the darkness shadows lurk. I have a staff. When I swing out the staff passes through the shadow and it dissipated. So while this inspired me and I swung this way and that, more shadows crowded in. And there was no damn light bulb to be found. At all, anywhere. Than I made a startling discovery. First one was that the staff I thought I was carrying, turned out to be my curtain rod from the living room. The second realization (there was still a lot of animosity at this time) was that the shadows actually were not attacking me. They were after my ex. Who it turns out was also in my dream. The castle was dilapidated.  Every shard of lightening showed me that. And I still could not find a damn light.

Let us now fast forward approximately ten months. Within the last two weeks, I have begun to dream. Nothing substantial, nothing that I even remember. During the day a small flash may come to me but not enough to piece the dream together.  And than this morning. I awoke at 6 a.m. and it was close to 7 before I fell back to sleep. But when I did, I had a dream. A dream about all the damn light bulbs being burned out.

While a great part of me is excited that I am finally dreaming/remembering my dreams again, there is a part that is scared. Once, my dreams were full of me loosing my teeth. Horrible dreams those were. They have since been replaced by dreams of no light anywhere, and I have to admit, that scares me more than my lips sinking in as my teeth fall out.