The Glass Half-Clouded

You know what is difficult to reckon? How many secrets you have.

I had this dream last night, one of those ones that just feels different. PAY ATTENTION TO THIS DREAM. I tried, but it slipped away with every step away from the bed, as dreams do.

I remember a few things which, if you're willing to think a little metaphorically but not get into crazy leaps of crazy reasoning, have already come true. Hopefully the entire dream has come true and no leaden slippers are left to drop. One reason I stopped playing with tarot cards? I sincerely did not want to know my future. (Another reason? Not being sure how much was "tapping into the less discernible undercurrents of human awareness" and how much was "girl of a certain young age and whimsical bent giving into fantasies of probability and possibility" - not that there's much wrong with either, really. Whatever spurs your horse.)

During this dream, before all the bits that have since played out in real life today, several secrets were revealed to me, and the episode simply became an enormous WELL, THAT EXPLAINS EVERYTHING convergence of information to the point where, even in the dream, I thought, crud, I hope I don't forget any of this when I wake up! (Booming caps are intentional - I'm not trying to mimic Dooce. Or Robert Jordan.)

Yeah, I don't know what to make of this. Part of me says to delete-delete-delete; I don't want people thinking I'm some hippy-dippy vibe-groper purporting that any of this is real or meaningful. (Much as I have the hippy-dipping vibe-groping hair for it.) On the other hand, don't make me quote Richard Feynman (again).

Back to secrets.

All blest secrets,
All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate
In the good man's distress! Seek, seek for him!
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.

(Cordelia, of course.)

This reminds me how, as I Friday-hopped from work today, I told myself that this weekend I would make a board game based on King Lear, something to inspire my freshies (who will be assigned the "boring" and "stupid" task of creating one for R&J next week) as well as next year's advanced lit students. HA HA HA. Now I'm on the other side of the commute and... HA HA HA. (Maybe this summer. What would the objective be? See your way through to justice? Show off knowledge of the play? Get to use some glitter glue?)

I was thinking that maybe I don't have any secrets. Maybe all of my secrets are other people's secrets? 

When I was having the dream, I "learned" some secrets that were actually just (according to the dream) memories I'd repressed. I remember thinking, "Wow, there's new data on me! New information on the backstory!" Then I thought, "Great, if I wake up and tell everyone I have repressed memories, they'll think I was abused or something, and not ___________." Where ___________ are the things washed away by the alarm clock.

I guess I have secrets. I have my own _____________ in waking life.

I think _____________ about _____________.

I judge _____________ for _____________.

Or are those secrets? Or are they just things I don't politely mention because it would be pointless for me and upsetting to others? The latter.

I feel _____________ and sometimes think _____________ when Dad is updating me on my mother's Alzheimer's. Secret? Or just futile to think about?

The fact that I don't mention my mother when my friends discuss Alzheimer's. Secret? Or not worth putting everyone through the awkward sympathy and pigeonholing my Mom to a bunch of people who never saw her at her razor sharp and pee-your-pants funny best?

I wish I could talk here about _____________ without obsessing over the deebees (how the cool kids are now spelling "douchebags" - morning radio taught me that) who would misread/misinterpret the events in that story then leave hurtful comments. So, I have a thousand opinions and rants that I want to share about why ______________, but the people who leave cruel comments scare me off that topic. (Sometimes not letting the terrorists win doesn't work on the small scale.)

But is that a secret? Or just something that I don't have the storytelling gifts and patience to tell really well and make it clear that the deebees don't have a leg to stand on? If you say, "Hey, I heard that  ______________," I'm not going to be all, "Oh, that's a secret. I can't comment." More like, "Oh god, don't even start. I'm so sick of it. Anyway."

(Besides, because of ______________, we've changed our life plans a little, doing something which was in the plan anyway, although I wasn't thinking 2010, but, okay, universe. You got me.)

So. Crap happens, even to me, who tried so hard to stay off the radar. And I have complicated and heartbreaking feelings about a complicated and heartbreaking illness. And I really dislike some people. Not really secrets.

But... I think I have one secret. One secret that is all mine. Something where, if you ask me, I'm not going widen my eyes dramatically and press my lips in that meaningful "It's not my secret to tell so stop asking questions" look. Something where, if you ask me, I think I will lie to you. And I plan to always lie to you. A secret for life.

Maybe it's the recipe for my new signature drink, "the watermelon shimmer." Maybe it's an undeniable nose-picking incident. Maybe it's boudoir confession. (Ew.)

Probably it's not worth mentioning at all.

But I do wonder how many secrets other people truly have.

15 May 2010 |






Carnival Elation (2009)
Carnival Splendor (2009)
Carnival Spirit (2010)
Carnival Spirit (2011)
Carnival Splendor (2011)
Norwegian Pearl to Alaska (2012)