I went back to my housekeeping job today.
It sucks much less now because it’s only one or two days a week, and I’m not going to do it alone any more. I have a good friend going with me now. It makes a big difference to have a person to talk to, instead of a toilet brush.
Have you ever had clam pizza? It’s kind of gross. I am compulsively devouring a slice at this very moment. See? I shouldn’t be alone. If Rukan were here, she’d be saying, “Why are you eating that clam pizza? You hate clam pizza! Blue Ox, stop eating that clam pizza!”
My cleaning friend pointed out that there are good aspects to housekeeping. You can have time with your mind. At her other job, she said, her mind is occupied the entire day (she works with little kids). For some of us creative types, time with our thoughts is like soaking in a luxurious hot mineral bath at a resort spa. Or rather, what I think that would be like.
So what has it been for me, to be alone with my thoughts at my job, for these past ten years? I should’ve choreographed for the Bolshoi Ballet, written a major screenplay and several books on quantum physics by now.
While I did squeeze out a few good blog entries at work, humans, apparently, are not meant to be alone all the time. I started going batty.
Why did I eat the clam pizza? Why?
I forgot to tell you that I had another whopper of a dream last night. That reminds me, I had this girlfriend from Brazil – Rio to be exact. You know those candies, “Whoppers”? She called them “Hoppers”. Whenever she said it, I fell deeper in love.
So this dream. It was a very long time ago, and the Christian church was trying to wipe out the earth-based religions. I was a High Priestess Warrior. Nice ring to that. Anyway, I was getting ready to lead a group of Priestesses and Priests (whatever the guys are called) into a final battle against the Christian Army. We knew it would be hopeless for us, because we were beleaguered and outnumbered. But we had to take a stand, for history! We had these shawls that were also sort of like pods, and we knew that when things got too hairy, we could pop the shawl-pods over our bodies and instantly transport ourselves to our retreat, a home no one else could get to. It was vaguely Mists of Avolon-y.
The setting for all this was my family’s land up in Maine, with the land winding around the saltwater cove, the moon high and bright, and our bonfire spreading orange light on the faces and tall pines around the circle.
I was giving orders to prepare when suddenly out of the dark woods, the Christian Army charged at us. I let out a fierce battle cry and we began to fight them. I had a broadsword and was swinging with all my might, cutting people down and dodging in every direction. I was strong and tall, and fearsome in battle.
Then I decided I didn’t like this whole war thing, and I made my way down toward the boathouse, where I found a friend of mine hanging out, and we had sex on the shore instead. After all, it was Beltane.
When I woke up, I was covered in moss. So was my friend. My moss was brown, and his was green. We brushed it off ourselves and went our separate ways. The end.
Then I had another dream. In this one, I was in the psyche ward. It was a stark contrast to the woodsy, warm darkness of the battle-sex dream. This was indoors, white walled, florescent-lit. I wasn’t supposed to be there. The mental health workers knew it, and said they’d get me out, but that I had to go through the same procedure as everyone else to leave. They tied my arms down and began to glue my mouth shut. I screamed at them and tried to kick them off me. They kept trying to reason with me, telling me this was the only way it could be done, but I kept screaming at them to stop, feeling like the world was closing around me, constricting my throat and chest so I couldn’t breathe.
Thankfully, I woke up then.
That’s the kind of stuff rattling around in my cage. It’s no wonder I needed to get out of my head, a little, and into the world.