Lemon's Scribbles

I held a 'hangover' brunch this morning for my friends. We gathered in the living room, when my horrid ex texted me, saying she needed to speak with me right away. 

I invited her over, because I don't like to be callous and thought she might be in some sort of trouble.

When she got to my place, she immediately started in on me about some kind of facebook message I left her. This was all overheard by my friends. I took her into the kitchen, so that we could have some privacy. 

She accused me of threatening her (not the case) and called me a few names (weak, stupid, etc). I felt cornered and I'm not good at confrontation. That's when I heard it...singing...coming from the living room.

In our group, the Saturday morning 'code of consideration' is silence and low light. As it got louder, I started to recognize the words. I was going to warn my ex, but suddenly my guests spilled into the kitchen, crooning: 

"Cruella De Vil, Cruella De Vil. If she doesn't scare you, no evil thing will"

They danced around her during the medley, banging on my pots and pans, as she tried to shout them down.

"The world was such a wholesome place untiiiil...Cruella, Cruella De Vil"

Hypnopompia is basically your transition from sleeping to awake. Ie hypnopompic speech are those garbled words you can get out of your mouth before you coherently demand coffee in the morning. 

I've had some pretty intense sleepwalking bouts and hypnopompic hallucinations. When I was living at home, my mom once found me sitting on the balcony in the snow, in my nightgown because I was certain there were corpses under my bed. 

How is this different from sleep walking? Well I was interacting with her pretty lucidly. I could remember the event afterwards. And as far as I can remember, I knew the corpses under my bed were part of a dream, but was still convinced they were there and 'felt their presence' under my bed as I ran out of my room.

How do we know I'm not faking it? Over the years through sleep walking, I have thrown myself off of balconies onto concrete. As mentioned above, I have almost achieved the Buddhist state of hypothermia...no...wait. I used to spend all night talking in my sleep some days, much to the chagrin of my ex but still be perfectly alert the next day. 

So, the other night me and my friends got together to watch Firefly. Of course, despite my insistence on putting in the DVD, we just ended up drinking...a lot. 

And though I said I didn't want to do shots, I did them...a lot. Also, I hate Sambuca. Does anybody even like the taste of black licorice? If someone offered you licorice, you'd be like "Aw yeeaaah" and start thinking of ways you could play with it:

- turning it into a straw by biting off the ends

- pretending it's a cigarette and smoking it

- making it a whip and hitting your friends with it 

Someone pulls out black licorice though and suddenly, they're not invited to parties anymore and they don't even wonder why. 

That was a long sidebar. Anyhow, some money went missing over the course of the night and suddenly it was all drunken veiled recrimination, some tears, and some more drinking.

Then the money was found (someone had tossed it into a bag) and there were sloppy apologies all around, more drinking, and the inevitable end of night 'water rush' - in which everyone realizes that they will eventually have to face another day, that we are not invincible and start to down as much water as they can. 

Ya, I know I get preachy about loving yourself and being a good person and overcoming bad habits. And then i do the exact opposite of what I preach...a lot. I disappoint myself. I get it. I am not perfect nor wise. I'm still this broken, confused person. I spend most of my time doubting if my close friends even like me. Someone could sit across from me and say "Wow I really like you!" and I would think "Why are they saying this? Do they want something? Are they trying to be nice?"

I'm just trying to fix something that's been broken for a while and recently fractured once more. I'm trying to be aware of my behaviour. And I have my moments, but I always feel like I'm moving too slowly. Everyone I know is out there in these wonderful relationships or ambitiously chasing their dreams. They have these awesome skills: cooking, music, or sports. 

All I seem to be good for is sitting, drinking and occasionally making people laugh. And I never know if they are laughing with me or at me. Am I a lucky girl, surrounded by loving friends who share my mirth? Or some pathetic booze-soaked loser that entertains a patronizing crowd?

I spend most of my time making almost incoherent decisions, all to keep moving forward but I have no idea what I am moving to. Do I want this career I've been working for? Do I want a relationship or intimacy? 

I had surgery the other day and texted my best friend since the age of five to let her know everything had gone well.

Her text: OMG!! Great! I was so worried. I can't wait to grab your breasts!

Me: I didn't get a boob job hun.

When I was working with Amnesty International, I heard many stories. Some were filled with hope, some I couldn't bear to listen to. I never told my colleagues, but there were days in which I used my breaks to cry silently outside because of the horrible things I heard. 

The thing that gave me hope was that once people start talking, they seem to spill everything. Victims, prisoners, people who'd lost their entire families discussed faith with me. People of different religions who suffered horrible trauma described losing their faith in their god or gods, over and over again.

But what gave me hope, was that the things that make people lose faith are almost never the things that were done to them, but rather the things that were done to others. In our darkest moments, we cling to hope. In the moments when we cannot provide hope, we seem to lose it.

I am a compulsive liar by nature, though I never understood the term completely. Contrary to feeling compelled to lie about anything, I had always naturally told untruths. There is a quote that always comes to mind when I think about my unhappy condition: ‘Be careful who you pretend to be. You will become who you pretend to be.’ Years of different lies to hundreds of people and I have become nothing. 

I used to think of myself as a Russian Matryoshka doll, from which other dolls emerge. This would be inaccurate, as even those playthings have one small carving in the centre that is solid. I am an empty vessel that holds different personalities that are to be presented at what I feel are appropriate times to the appropriate people.

The true ridiculousness of my condition is that I can only maintain identities for so long. And thus, the more of an illusion I am with others the more difficult I find it to like them. Because, while I was having a conversation with them, or thinking about their opinions, or even making love to them, they were in a relationship with someone that I had scarcely known more than a few months.

I hope that on my deathbed,

My friends and family ask,

"What is it you've left us - aside from empty flasks?"

I hope they show no sorrow, 

as they raise the parting glass, 

And tease me about the times in which I've been a complete ass.

I hope that they laugh hearty,

when the will is read, 

And realise that every penny has gone to the poor instead.

I hope they feign surprise

And say "the money's all been spent!"

So I can say "Well I've been poor too and dreamt what poor men dreamt"

I hope that my friends kiss me, 

Even though I'm growing cold, 

And then reassure me that at least now I won't grow old.

I hope they want to tease me, 

And say my grave site is a ditch.

Someone recently accused me of being afraid to commit...to anything. They were right. To me, being afraid of commitment is being afraid of yourself because you don't know yourself. When you don't know who you are, you do not know what you want. 

And why would I decide to have a constant in my life if I am unsure of something? I would rather discover what I am capable of and then determine if one of those things includes the promise and steadfastness that commitment requires. 

I recently posted a short story that, for all intents and purposes, was anti-racist. I reread it and realized that if you think mindlessly following orders is a good thing, then you might have thought that I was celebrating Nazism…

Long story short: I DO NOT. I have disliked a lot of people in my life, even hated a handful, but it was not because they were black, white, male, female, gay, straight, bisexual, transgender, christian, muslim, jewish, etc. It was because I thought them to be pricks. 

So, re the White Man's Burden: If you’re so ridiculous as to think the world owes you something because of the colour of your skin, let me enlighten you.

NO!

Nobody owes anybody anything. People don’t just get things - women had suffrage just so they could vote, people work to make money, black people took part in a mass civil rights movement to get recognized as full citizens. Everybody fights against some kind of discrimination and we are ALL going to have loved ones die, not be able to find a job, be betrayed, get hurt, lose money, feel depressed and hopeless beyond belief and YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO. That is part of the human experience. 

on a flight to Costa Rica. I was looking forward to a smooth flight but the pill never kicked in. Six hours later, at customs, I started to feel its effects. The intimidating official asked me a question in Spanish, which I responded to - accurately - in French. He glanced at my passport, which was in English and noted that I am Canadian. 

I shrugged and said simply "sleeping pill". The man laughed and said, 

"Вы русский шпион?" (Are you a Russian spy?)

To which, I inexplicably replied, "нет" (No.)

I was in my high school history class when one of our favourite teachers walked in. She had on her customary smile and  asked the class, politely, to stand. This was unusual, but we all stood up. 

 Then she told us to tap our heads with one hand and  rub our stomachs with the other. I was starting to feel rather foolish and some of us exchanged looks and others started to whisper. 

"This is a simple exercise," said our teacher, in an uncharacteristically firm voice. "There should be no need to talk."

So we continued in silence. She asked us to continue the tapping and rubbing motions but to also circle our desks - in a clockwise formation.

She pointed out those who made mistakes and encouraged us to help each other. Girls from different cliques started to work as teams to keep the circle moving smoothly. Our teacher congratulated us when we got it right. And I must say, it felt nice. 

Finally, she asked us to make a chain with our bodies that would span the perimeter of the classroom. This proved difficult, but we all held hands and tried. 

"You have quite a few gaps," said our teacher, looking at our chain. 

This prompted some people to get on the floor and stretch themselves out, so that we could complete the exercise. We still had some gaps and those on the ground began to chastise those still standing. 

Our teacher looked intently at us and asked in a crisp tone, 

"What are you doing?"

We looked at her, perplexed. "We're doing what you asked us to do," came the chorus.

"Yes, but why?"

"Because...you told us to? You're the teacher."

And then, she told us one of the most powerful things I have yet to hear in my life. 

"We are studying the Holocaust this term. Last week, a lot of you wondered how it was possible that otherwise good people could send, or allow the sending of  their friends and neighbours, to the gas chambers. The simple answer is, that they were told to. So many Nazis used the defence: I was only following orders. This is what we are trained to do. I'm an authority figure. I walked into a room and told you to do nonsensical things and not one of you asked why. I got you to lie on the floor!" At this, we laughed. 

She continued, "I got you to yell at those who would not lie down." It was no longer funny. We had behaved badly simply because we enjoyed the simple rewards from our teacher for meaningless tasks.

The previous week, everyone had emphatically stated that they could never just sit idly, while our neighbours were taken away, but would we even question why they were being taken? How passive are we, day to day? The questions stirred in the shared silence until my teacher spoke again.

 "I won't tell you not to follow orders. That seems counter-intuitive. I will ask you to question everything: people, ideologies, governments. I ask that you know yourselves, hopefully as good and kind people.  That way, you may never be goose-stepped into immorality."

Now, I know you're not all the same, but just as I would never stare or make comments when you are walking hand-in-hand with your girlfriends, I ask you respectfully to shut your damn mouths when I am doing the same. 

The refrains of "that's hot" or "ooo yeah", are so ridiculous to me. Do you think I will just invite you into bed with me and my girl? That you will magically "turn me" with your wit?

I'm not a drunk sorority girl and I am not in love with my girlfriend for show. I understand that you boys get mixed messages at parties when girls make out for attention, but use the power of observation to determine context. I happen to believe men are, for the most part, intelligent. There is a difference! Just as there is a difference in the nature of a relationship between two people screwing in an alleyway, outside a bar and two people in sweaters and jeans, hugging and touching each other's faces - regardless of sex or gender or whatever!

I am, like most men, not an island and I desire intimacy and love. I treat both like gifts, willing to receive them whenever they are offered. It is already hard to connect in our world that all but demands that we hide behind technology, in order to bond. We spend most of our time with a cell in our hands. Weirdly, I would prefer to feel the soft flesh of a loved one in the caress of my fingers. 

I've had people tell me to just "hold hands at home", but there are days when I want nothing more than to hold onto someone, to wander through my city and see the world, with someone I love. I cannot always pick and choose the moments where I will want to do it and believe it or not! I do not always do it consciously!