June 18, 1959
18 Comments | by Lucy Wightman For my birthday I woke up from the longest, most inconsolable dream I have had. I was so relieved to see Torri in her bed this morning and hear Donny snoring away. I was given a break from my doctoral program and told that my past life as a stripper was erased. Phew! Although I loved it, it was coming back to hurt me. I did not meet a psychopath while in my last years of internship, but had completed my research and was taking time off to be a mother.
The part where I could not move, could not get a job, could not have a voice or the same rights as others because of the past was just a dream. My mother sent me a loving card and called me to say ‘Happy Birthday,” and my father did the same. My closest relative, Leslie Heffernan, like a sister, came by and helped me with some things and we laughed. Winkle’s age reversed by ten years and I was gifted foresight, a fabulous people-filter, and just enough money to give to what I want to give to. It was great. Really.
No longer accused of things beyond my imagination, no more poor choices, spelling or grammatical errors, not there just for other’s entertainment, and tears that only came from joy. We didn’t have a lot, but enough. I was part of family and secure in that. I knew where I belonged, and to what clan. I was present for those I loved, and they me.
During one part of this horrible fiasco of a dream, I kept getting words and ideas that fell at my feet, piling up so high I shrunk in pain and bled form every pore! I felt obligated to pretend and spoke like I belonged, and like I had food, water and enough to care for what was left - my pooch. Answering the phone would turn me into someone who had purpose, belonging and things to do every day.
Then when I woke up from under the triple layer and saw that I no longer knew what was dream and what wasn’t, I was granted a doorway home. Home.
Jun 21, 2010 at 5:40 PM Donny Wightman, lucy wightman, torri wightman | Share Article
Reader Comments (18)
I have options and regrets. Maybe you need a honey I think. Consider it.
I bet you can do most anything you want if you want it. If you want a honey you bump into one.
There are no bargains out there. We all have stuff we hid and stuff that we make up and just plain unconventional stuff. Unconventional is good in my opinion.
You aren't a Republican are you?
Every pot has a lid. But you need to try the lids to check out the fit. It's not easy trying on lids, I know.
Take care.
Some people suck.If they're good at it, that's not always a bad thing. (I can't believe I made a double entendre on your blog. In print.. Holy Moley. Don't tell anyone who I am!)
It seems like some pretty caring people are expressing their love for you here. Some quite tender men may even be flirting.
It's summertime. Buy a pretty dress that moves in the wind as well as you do and lighten up. We're all gonna get old and worn and haggard if we live right. I promise you that someday we'll compare laugh lines and account them all worth the years they add to our faces. (The margaritas are also worth the calories!)
Kiss the mirror and go find someone who makes you giggle. A page in the book, a chapter, or a whole new volume. Who knows? It's a big world, Lucy. SInce when did you come to believe that your life is bounded by toxic digs made beautiful by your own efforts, your own light?
If you were your own client what would you say to her?
He can't step off the ship because, on land, there's no end to the possibilities. The world defined by prow and stern is all he has ever known. He can't venture beyond these limits because he knows that, if he did, what redeems his life would crumble; the music and his ability to hear the music of others would vanish. I can relate. To attempt to make sense of such a life amidst so many, the rising cacophony of human hopes and dreams, aspirations and yearnings, would prove too much, would only lead to heartache and disappointment, would mire him in a world where people suck and that's it. Perhaps redemption is at best a local event and all the rest, as Nineteen puts it, is simply God's piano.