Ys

Seer of ghosts & weaver of stories

(You are very much not forgotten)

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Ghost Stories
Ys
ajodasso
Eighteen more days with only my thoughts and depressing television for company. That might not strictly be true thanks to next week's journey to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving, but I'm sure an eight-hour car trip is going to bring new and interesting challenges on the recovery front. I'm well enough for that as long as I'll have a reclining seat, I'm sure, but it's still going to be less than fun. Today was one of those days in which talking through the things about which I'm perpetually upset did absolutely zero to improve my outlook on life, the universe, and everything. I've written around 13,000 words of fiction in the past few weeks, but when I stop between concentrated bursts, it's difficult to start again. I have to write another 10k before December 1st, and I'm dragging my feet, making sleepless blog posts instead. "Tell me a dream," someone prompts. No, I think, and then I do anyway (and end up in tears because of who was in it and where it was set).

My brain keeps looping that Aimee Mann song, "It's Not Going to Stop," that I quoted a handful of subject lines back. A few hours ago, my youngest sister texted to ask me if I'd had any run-ins with the supernatural lately, because I'm the family go-to person for handling creepy shit (do you ask your hereditary storytellers to do this?) I told her about three different people in the five or so days leading up to my surgery reporting to me via text-message that they thought they'd spotted me where they are, and that is many states away in each case; I told her about the too-vivid dreams I've been having. I don't know if those count. I assumed she'd texted me with this because maybe she had something to report (a cousin of mine texted a couple months back, somewhat concerned that she and her kids were moving into a house that's reportedly haunted), but she was just thinking about the fact that I always seemed to be an odd-happenings magnet and how we both dreamed of a girl-ghost standing next to the piano in one of the houses we lived in while we were growing up (and didn't know we'd both dreamed this till we were talking years later). My blood seems to deal in dreams and hauntings, and for us it's the restless girls who won't settle who seem to get it.

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"Tell me a dream," someone prompts. No, I think, and then I do anyway (and end up in tears because of who was in it and where it was set).

My personal recommendation for this situation is to write the dreams down, so that you have a record of them and a resource if you ever decide to work them into fiction or poetry, and then put a moratorium on recounting your dreams to people if the process of recalling and re-experiencing them is that painful. It's not worth spiking yourself on them afresh just to have a story to tell right now. I can certainly stop asking you if I have been.

because I'm the family go-to person for handling creepy shit (do you ask your hereditary storytellers to do this?)

. . . Last family I knew with a hereditary storyteller, yes, the ghost-eating was part of the package, but that doesn't mean I recommend it.

I told her about three different people in the five or so days leading up to my surgery reporting to me via text-message that they thought they'd spotted me where they are, and that is many states away in each case

Reaction A: AUGH JEEZ BEING A FETCH IS NEVER A GOOD SIGN.

Reaction B: Okay, well, you survived your surgery, but that was some red herring. I take it the sightings have stopped in the days since?

*hugs* if they help; if not, have a stupidly bouncy earworm about architecture.

Oh, no, it wasn't you - it was someone else. I've been blogging about them so that I have a record of them; I haven't had a proper paper dream journal in a long time. But maybe I should start one.

(I cannot say I recommend it either, at least not when conditions are stressful. My little sister seemed a bit possessed by a particular memory she has of falling asleep with her arms crossed behind her and kind-of-waking in the middle of the night to find them all pins and needles; she remembered being able to toss in her sleep and free them, although one arm was flung uncomfortably across her front - she gave up and decided to just try to drift fully back to sleep, and she recalls feeling someone lift her arm and gently placing it at her side. She was sleeping alone in an otherwise empty room in an empty apartment. We talked about the weird memories of the house mentioned in the entry that seemed to be bugging her, so I guess as ghost-eating sessions go, this one was not too bad - and also conveniently carried out via text.)

Reaction A: AUGH JEEZ BEING A FETCH IS NEVER A GOOD SIGN.

This was the exact reaction I had when person #3 was like, "Hey! I thought I saw you!" I tried to make a joke of said reaction, and it didn't go over so well at the time. I have never been a fetch before that I can remember, though, so having it suddenly happen before a major medical procedure gives me pause. I did survive, though, so clearly I can assume this was happening because they weer all thinking of me more than usual? As far as I know, the sightings stopped altogether.

*hugs* I will listen to that as soon as I can find where my headphones went. The answer might be "behind the bed."


I just remember the fun dreams, like the one I had recently where I was hanging out with my sister and I was putting silver glittery body paint on my nipples while we listened to Lady Gaga's "Born This Way"* :D

Are you taking any new-ish meds lately? Some I take give me more vivid and longer dreams (mostly because I now stay asleep longer and deeper) but fortunately these dreams are not any more disturbing than usual.


*This makes me sound like I'm a teen or 20's but actually my sister and I are in our mid-forties, so go figure :-)

I was somewhat certain the Percocet was to blame, but I've been off that for almost a week now. Maybe the residual traces are still having an effect?

I think that sounds like a fun dream. I like quite a number of Lady Gaga's songs, and I won't hesitate to admit that :)

Edited at 2014-11-21 05:35 pm (UTC)

I guess you were "seen" because you were/were going to be under general anesthesia, i.e. on a trip in another world (worlds seeming to be quite a bit more than two).

That's a far more reasonable and calming solution than the fetch *hugs*

Sometimes I find comfort in the realization that I am not the only person who wakes from dreams, thinks about them, and bursts into tears. I wonder sometimes if this is due to being in a half-asleep state, which makes one particularly vulnerable to extremes. Or perhaps some of us are just particularly vulnerable to extremes regardless of how awake we are. Perhaps even, this is a manner of just being more awake to the world all the time.

Or maybe I am being spectacularly introspective on this particular day. *shrug*

These days, I think my dreams are usually more or less suppressed, so to be going through a sudden period of remembering them is probably overwhelming in its own right. It's just the subjects, good grief. They seem a bit more than my heart can take at the moment. I'm glad to know I'm not alone in this, either.

I know it's something you do through poetry often, but you really MUST write a memoir one day. <3

I've been giving thought to memoir-writing, actually. I engage in the practice so much with my verse, and I so rarely engage with it in prose. Thanks for reinforcing the notion ;)

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