Hemlock Knoll #2: Walking in Dreams . . . My Own or Someone Else's
Some days just seem coated in grey, or hazed with a mist that one can feel more than see. At my favorite school today, the kids were a mix of unresponsive and downright agitated. I work with a lot of special education, and sometimes I think those kids are more sensitive to subtle changes in the world around them than most of us. I ended the day with a handful of jobs, thankfully. I am beginning to look at the school as "my school", even though there is no guarantee that I will be placed there next year in the Residency program. It is a friendly, quiet place, with a Japanese courtyard containing some lattice pavilions and an old pine tree of impressive height for this area.
Now, I'm at home, fresh from indulging in more Inuyasha. I'm on season six, and have taken to eating "Ninja food", as Shippo calls instant noodles, while I watch. But even my Rockstar can't save me from my fatigue. Diachyr and I have been on opposing schedules again, and it was 1 am before I hit the sheets last night. I would have been alright if it hadn't been for my dreams.
They're like the fog draped about my day. I remember snatches, tattered shreds of emotions and images. Things that I left behind in a past I would like to believe is no longer appealing to me. Ghosts. Nostalgia. I'm being deliberately vague. It's very personal, yet I feel the need to affix those skeins to this little hollow in the tangled woods of the wired. Maybe if I acknowledge them, the specters will return to the tombs in which they belong.
It's not as melodramatic as that, really. No tortured soul here. Just the occasional pang rising up from long ago. It's not even a bad thing, truly. These phantom emotions reassure me the depth of my feelings for the people around me.
Now, I'm at home, fresh from indulging in more Inuyasha. I'm on season six, and have taken to eating "Ninja food", as Shippo calls instant noodles, while I watch. But even my Rockstar can't save me from my fatigue. Diachyr and I have been on opposing schedules again, and it was 1 am before I hit the sheets last night. I would have been alright if it hadn't been for my dreams.
They're like the fog draped about my day. I remember snatches, tattered shreds of emotions and images. Things that I left behind in a past I would like to believe is no longer appealing to me. Ghosts. Nostalgia. I'm being deliberately vague. It's very personal, yet I feel the need to affix those skeins to this little hollow in the tangled woods of the wired. Maybe if I acknowledge them, the specters will return to the tombs in which they belong.
It's not as melodramatic as that, really. No tortured soul here. Just the occasional pang rising up from long ago. It's not even a bad thing, truly. These phantom emotions reassure me the depth of my feelings for the people around me.