Marley’s Ghost, revisited

I’m not new to this blogging thing–I’ve been around the block once or twice before. The catacombs of Internetland are littered with my abandoned projects. In the interest of wasting as much free time as possible before I have to go back to the soul suck that is higher education, I started re-reading some of my old work. (Work that occurred before I was responsible for the continued care and existence of the tornado-child we all know as Boo.) Not too far back in the archives of my MySpace account was this little gem:


Current mood:  mellow
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

New dream last night, different from before.

It started out as the tornado dream. A group of three faceless people and I drove toward mountains that reminded me of the Rockies in summer. The air felt heavy and clouds above us boiled, threatening black masses. Three tornadoes dropped from the sky, twisting sinuously around one another, taunting us. No escape.

The dream shifted. I found myself in a bathroom with an antiseptic bleach smell that couldn’t quite mask the cloud of body odor and stale sweat. The mirrors in front of me were clouded over with steam, and when I rubbed one clear, my reflection wasn’t staring back at me. Then the room was full of high laughter and girls in cheerleading uniforms. None of them seemed to notice me. I was invisible to them, a non-entity. When I tapped one on the shoulder, my finger passed through her. A cold realization hit me.

I wasn’t invisible. I was dead.

I started crying. Deep, wracking sobs that tore my gut in two. Time passed, whether it was an hour or twenty, I didn’t know. Slowly, I became aware of another presence in the room. She stood in the corner of the room, a warmness radiating out of her in pulses. She smiled at me, beckoned me forward.

“Who are you?” I asked.

Her teeth, a dazzling white contrast against her ebony smile. “I’m a Healer.”

“Do I need to be Healed?”

Hesitation. “Do you?”

I thought about how my finger has passed through the girl’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can be Healed now.”

“Perhaps.”

Her nonchalance frustrated me. I didn’t want to play 20 questions. I wanted answers. “Why am I here? Is this real, or am I imagining it?”

She grasped my hand, and her warmth flowed into me. “I’m here to show you.”

Another realization. “You’re an angel. The angel of death?”

“I have been called many things, but none change my purpose. I am here to show you. Come with me.”

The date on the entry was 23 July 2008. I was a few months pregnant at the time, but I had NO idea. Nothing. Three negative tests told me my womb remained free of uninvited boarders, and I believed them. After all, I had no other symptoms. No nausea, weird cravings, nothing. At this point, I was a freaking gold-star candidate for I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant.

Now that I know better, I can see that this was the one and only symptom I had. Around the time I started working for UAFS, I started having ridiculously REAL dreams. Every night, I would sit bolt upright from deep sleep, sweating and panting and generally terrified. These dreams were vivid. Inception-style vivid. When I woke up, for a few seconds I always wondered where I was and what the hell was happening to me.

The fact that I titled that entry with the Part I tag implies that there were sequels, but I never got around to documenting them. That or I was just too fucking embarassed to let people into my freakishly messed up mind to share it. I can only remember two other dreams that I had during my pregnancy, and I wrote about one of them. From 22 July 2008:


Current mood:  distressed
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

I’m being haunted.

For the last few nights, I’ve had the same dream. I can’t say that it’s terrifying like some of my other recurrent nightmares–like the one where three tornadoes are swirling around my family and I can’t do anything to save them–but it is disturbing.

In the dream, I’m standing in the middle of Grand Central Station during rush hour. I look up to check the time, not wanting to miss my train, but the hands on the clock across from me are spinning drunkenly around its face. Suddenly, there is a great lurch, and the people around me are moving so fast they look like fuzzy pastel blurs. I try moving out of the way to avoid imminent collision with the faceless horde, but I’m glued in place. I can’t move my feet, or turn my head, or even raise my hands to protect myself. Everything around me is flying past, but I’m just there.

Motionless. Trapped.

That’s it. There’s nothing more to it. I have this dream a few times a night, and every time I wake up, I can’t escape its imagery. The vestiges of the dream follow me in the conscious world, too, so much so that I constantly have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something about the air around me feels heavy, like someone has wrapped my entire body in a tight mantle I can’t escape.

I’m convinced this a metaphor for the way I feel about my life. Lately, it feels like everyone and everything around me is changing, but I’m still firmly rooted to the same spot I’ve been since high school. I keep wondering when my life will begin–when I’ll get my happily every after.

For all intents and purposes, I’m right where I was five (almost six) years ago. I’ve let so many opportunities slip through my fingers, watched the future I created for myself melt away in a haze of instability. Now I’m left sitting here wondering when I’m going to fall out of this horrible rabbit hole and into my new life.

Like I said, I’m being haunted, and it’s not fun. At this point, I’d gladly welcome the nastiest poltergeist into my life if it meant I could break free of this dream.

Obviously, this was Boo kicking me in the subconscious saying, “Hey, lady. I’m here and I mean business. Now go take some prenatal vitamins and get some exercise.” It’s kind of freaky how spot on the imagery was. From that point on, I wouldn’t be standing still any longer–I’d be hurled into a vortex of newness. Constant changes, new milestones. My life would never be the same.

And it hasn’t.

It has only been two years since I wrote those words, and I don’t even recognize the me I was back then. I was selfish. Impulsive. Egotistical. Drunk (more often than not.) In two words: Not Likeable.

I like to think that I am different now, that I’ve reigned myself in. I’ve tried to throw myself into this mommy gig with enthusiasm. Although it isn’t always sunshine and unicorns pooping rainbows, it is the most joyous undertaking I’ve ever been a part of. The word ‘love’ is not an adequate expression for the way I feel about my son. I am obsessed with him. He has made me a better, more humble person. Because of him, I have to take a step back from my own feelings and wonder how my actions will affect him. He is my center. He is my life.

And as for that other dream… Well. I’ve never seen the movie ‘Alien’, but Red informs me that the plot involves little baby extraterrestrials leap out of their hosts/human incubators. In my dream, my unborn child tore his way out of my body using long, bony fingers with nails like razorblades. He licked myblood off his lips as I lay there dying and enunciated, in perfect English, “Hello, Mother. I am so happy to meet you.”

Now that’s some X Files shit for you.

*****Edit: I’m 100% certain the title for the original post has nothing to do with the band Marley’s Ghost, because… ew. I don’t like folk music. I’m pretty sure I was referring to the ghost of Jacob Marley in The Christmas Carol. That seems a lot more appropriate.

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About Chelsie

Mommy. Beauty product whore. Plastic lawn flamingo enthusiast. Nosy neighbor. One day novelist.
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2 Responses to Marley’s Ghost, revisited

  1. Michelle says:

    *hugs* I liked you then, and I like you now. You have grown over the past several years; I would like to think that we all have. But you were never utterly unlikable.

    The first dream definitely has some Christmas Carol vibes to it. I’ve read that if you keep a log of your dreams, you can start to see common themes/threads and make some headway interpreting them. (And yet, I still forget to log my dreams, despite the fact that I have a journal and a pencil by my bed for that very reason.)

    I’m glad to see that you’re writing again on a regular basis. You’re really good. 🙂

  2. Chelsie says:

    Michelle, you have no idea how much that means to me. You know what you’re talking about when it comes to writing, and to have you say I’m ‘good’ makes me feel all warm and tingly inside. (Ahem, don’t read the entry I posted right after this one. I had… too much juice… so it’s more typos and run-ons than actual story telling. It will get edited later today.)

    If I can get my readership up, I’d really like to look into getting a professionally designed page in the future. If you know anyone who’s good at that sort of thing let me know 😉 haha

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