I Just Get Confused
Taking a break from working and posting some completed entries on a windy Sunday night.
As always, standard disclaimers apply. My beloved Battlestar Galactica belongs to RDM et al.
Also, in regards to spoilers, don't read any of the below if you've not yet read season four. I promise you, you will regret it. The following aren't exactly set in any specific period, other than that nebulous period around the beginning of season four, but it applies to both three and four, as well as to the series as a whole. I do enjoy it so.
Anyway.
Below is part three of my drabble series, Breathe.
You can find the first part, entitled Leave Me Be, here:
http://dr-roslin.livejournal.com/1905.html
Part two, I Don't Wanna Love You, here:
http://dr-roslin.livejournal.com/2942.html
I’m dreaming.
I always know it when I’m dreaming.
It’s when I’m awake that I get confused. It’s the chamalla. It messes with your mind. At least for me.
The visions were really confusing.
This time I know I'm not experiencing one of those.
I’m on New Caprica and I’m drowning.
Or rather, I’m being drowned. Two of the Leobens were holding my head underwater, while D’anna D’Biers gloats.
Wake up, Roslin. Wake up. This isn’t real.
I bolt straight upright, sweating.
Sure enough, I'm safe in my bed, while the engines of the Colonial One hum beneath me. My cot may be small, but at least it is dry. Oh, and I'm not surrounded by psychopathic Cylons. Always good news.
It’s okay, Laura, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home. You’re safe.
I sit up in the cot and make sure I can see the stars and the reassuring bulk of the Galactica, framed in my window.
You’re such a baby, Laura.
Lately, I can’t sleep unless I see Galactica there. It usually is, just as it had been since the beginning, since the first few terrifying days following the attacks. Sometimes it wasn't, sometimes it was called away for this emergency or that, but those occasions were rare. It had always been the safest place for the Colonial One, next to the massive ship, and once the Admiral and I’d gotten, well, used, to each other, I’d gotten used to having it there. When I'd had to move after Racetrack’s Raptor smashed into my original quarters, I'd made sure my bed was placed to ensure an unobstructed view of Galactica out my window.
Right now, though, I’m unsettled. I know I won’t be able to get back to sleep anytime soon.
I wondered if Bill was awake.
I will not call him. I will not call him. Be strong Laura.
I’d become too dependent on him lately. I couldn’t picture going through this without him, the doloxan treatments, especially, without him. Without his company, without that deep, gravelly voice beside me, reading those unfortunate hard-boiled mysteries we both love. I swear, I’d listen to him reading the phone book in that voice.
Gods, I love that voice. Gods, I love…
Nope. Not going there.
I’m dying. I know it, he knows it. I know it weighs on him.
I have to be strong. I have to avoid adding to the weight that bows down his shoulders.
So, I’m not going to call him. Plus, it’s the middle of the night. Even if that doesn't mean the same as it once did. There’s no night and day in space, anymore than there is up and down.
I wonder if he’s on shift.
No.
I’m not going to call him.
Besides, I know he’s not on shift. He’s changed his schedule to match my diloxin treatments. He always wanted to make sure he was able, duty permitting, to take me to them.
To make sure I went.
He’s sleeping, just like you should be, I tell myself. You don’t want to wake him. You're not so far gone that you need the sound of his voice to soothe you to sleep.
I tell myself that, tell myself anything, to keep from calling him.
I must have fallen asleep again, curled up in my cot, because I’m dreaming again.
Bright sunlight, my eyes closed, and my face tilted up to catch every drop, curled in my Muskoka chair. The first day of spring on Caprica. It’s barely warm enough to sit outside, I’m still wearing my winter jacket, but I don’t want to miss a single minute of the sun’s warmth.
It’s been such a long winter.
When the sun fades, I’ll have to go in, it’s still not warm enough to sit outside without it. But that’s a ways away, and the sun feels so good on my bones, as it warms my aching body.
Wait, I am dreaming, right?
For once I’m not so sure. My bones ache right now, and there’s usually no pain in my dreams. That’s usually the tell. It’s one of the ways I can tell that I’m having chamalla-induced visions instead.
When twelve vipers crawled across my podium, I still hurt. So I knew I wasn’t dreaming. I knew. This is a vision, I told myself. People can see me. I have to hold myself together.
I ache now. Every muscle, every bone, every pore. So, this is a vision?
Of me, relaxing on my patio on Caprica?
I wait to see what will happen, what it will tell me. How it relates to our journey. Our quest. Instead I just feel warm and relaxed, caressed by the sun.
But, if this is a dream, why do I still ache?
I shouldn’t.
Still, it’s enjoyable here with the sun with my face. I’d just decided to stay here for a while when I wake up.
I still ache, I’m still cold, I’m still alone, and the Galactica is missing from its spot in my window.
Godsdamn it.
As always, standard disclaimers apply. My beloved Battlestar Galactica belongs to RDM et al.
Also, in regards to spoilers, don't read any of the below if you've not yet read season four. I promise you, you will regret it. The following aren't exactly set in any specific period, other than that nebulous period around the beginning of season four, but it applies to both three and four, as well as to the series as a whole. I do enjoy it so.
Anyway.
Below is part three of my drabble series, Breathe.
You can find the first part, entitled Leave Me Be, here:
http://dr-roslin.livejournal.com/1905.html
Part two, I Don't Wanna Love You, here:
http://dr-roslin.livejournal.com/2942.html
I’m dreaming.
I always know it when I’m dreaming.
It’s when I’m awake that I get confused. It’s the chamalla. It messes with your mind. At least for me.
The visions were really confusing.
This time I know I'm not experiencing one of those.
I’m on New Caprica and I’m drowning.
Or rather, I’m being drowned. Two of the Leobens were holding my head underwater, while D’anna D’Biers gloats.
Wake up, Roslin. Wake up. This isn’t real.
I bolt straight upright, sweating.
Sure enough, I'm safe in my bed, while the engines of the Colonial One hum beneath me. My cot may be small, but at least it is dry. Oh, and I'm not surrounded by psychopathic Cylons. Always good news.
It’s okay, Laura, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home. You’re safe.
I sit up in the cot and make sure I can see the stars and the reassuring bulk of the Galactica, framed in my window.
You’re such a baby, Laura.
Lately, I can’t sleep unless I see Galactica there. It usually is, just as it had been since the beginning, since the first few terrifying days following the attacks. Sometimes it wasn't, sometimes it was called away for this emergency or that, but those occasions were rare. It had always been the safest place for the Colonial One, next to the massive ship, and once the Admiral and I’d gotten, well, used, to each other, I’d gotten used to having it there. When I'd had to move after Racetrack’s Raptor smashed into my original quarters, I'd made sure my bed was placed to ensure an unobstructed view of Galactica out my window.
Right now, though, I’m unsettled. I know I won’t be able to get back to sleep anytime soon.
I wondered if Bill was awake.
I will not call him. I will not call him. Be strong Laura.
I’d become too dependent on him lately. I couldn’t picture going through this without him, the doloxan treatments, especially, without him. Without his company, without that deep, gravelly voice beside me, reading those unfortunate hard-boiled mysteries we both love. I swear, I’d listen to him reading the phone book in that voice.
Gods, I love that voice. Gods, I love…
Nope. Not going there.
I’m dying. I know it, he knows it. I know it weighs on him.
I have to be strong. I have to avoid adding to the weight that bows down his shoulders.
So, I’m not going to call him. Plus, it’s the middle of the night. Even if that doesn't mean the same as it once did. There’s no night and day in space, anymore than there is up and down.
I wonder if he’s on shift.
No.
I’m not going to call him.
Besides, I know he’s not on shift. He’s changed his schedule to match my diloxin treatments. He always wanted to make sure he was able, duty permitting, to take me to them.
To make sure I went.
He’s sleeping, just like you should be, I tell myself. You don’t want to wake him. You're not so far gone that you need the sound of his voice to soothe you to sleep.
I tell myself that, tell myself anything, to keep from calling him.
I must have fallen asleep again, curled up in my cot, because I’m dreaming again.
Bright sunlight, my eyes closed, and my face tilted up to catch every drop, curled in my Muskoka chair. The first day of spring on Caprica. It’s barely warm enough to sit outside, I’m still wearing my winter jacket, but I don’t want to miss a single minute of the sun’s warmth.
It’s been such a long winter.
When the sun fades, I’ll have to go in, it’s still not warm enough to sit outside without it. But that’s a ways away, and the sun feels so good on my bones, as it warms my aching body.
Wait, I am dreaming, right?
For once I’m not so sure. My bones ache right now, and there’s usually no pain in my dreams. That’s usually the tell. It’s one of the ways I can tell that I’m having chamalla-induced visions instead.
When twelve vipers crawled across my podium, I still hurt. So I knew I wasn’t dreaming. I knew. This is a vision, I told myself. People can see me. I have to hold myself together.
I ache now. Every muscle, every bone, every pore. So, this is a vision?
Of me, relaxing on my patio on Caprica?
I wait to see what will happen, what it will tell me. How it relates to our journey. Our quest. Instead I just feel warm and relaxed, caressed by the sun.
But, if this is a dream, why do I still ache?
I shouldn’t.
Still, it’s enjoyable here with the sun with my face. I’d just decided to stay here for a while when I wake up.
I still ache, I’m still cold, I’m still alone, and the Galactica is missing from its spot in my window.
Godsdamn it.