Dangerous Compassions


I wanted to tell you some things and was writing a blog post in my head while I made pasta and cooked mushrooms and sauce.  Then I forgot all of it.

Last night I was laughing in bed about the idea and phrase “pants substitute.”  You know I like to write these little six word poems.  I think that would make a good line.

When I went for my sleep study, it was a surreal experience!  I told Ming, “This is the weirdest hotel I’ve ever stayed at,” which made me laugh also.  So much worse than I expected.  I can’t believe that’s a normal thing to do to people.

I over-scratched myself on my forehead today, leaving a line.  Not sure how I did that.  We have a “no self-harm” policy in our family, so I apologized to Ming for violating the policy.  We laughed at that too.  It’s an old joke between us, seven year old joke.

Some nights are fine.  Some nights, all my skin feels overly sensitive, my legs are restless and achy, can’t get comfortable, itchy, going nuts.  Last night was a bad one.  I told Ming, “I’m tortured by physicality.”

I also told him, “I want to shed my Earth-suit,” and, “I’m done having a body.  I want to have an out of body experience.  Maybe I should try astral projection.”

I finally got to sleep, and he woke me up soon after, telling me he couldn’t find his phone.  I tried to help him find it.  He called his phone from my phone.  He turned off the fan to carefully listen for his phone’s vibration.

Then when he found it, I yelled at him.  “Why did you wake me up for your stupid phone?”  But it was short-lived.  Couldn’t stay mad at him.  Fell asleep again.

Then this morning, I thought the sun was shining, but I was mistaken.  It was 4:40am.  But I was awake, so I got up.  Ming was already up.

Ming doesn’t like the neighborhood mockingbird.  I told him it’s my friend.

A lot of people have been wondering about mockingbirds for a long time.  When do they sleep, why are they singing like that.  Some people hate them and try to spray them with hose water to scare them away.

Recently I told my friend that when I was a little girl, I liked to drink from the hose, outside, summer days.  It tasted like freedom.  It was the best water ever.  But it has lead in it.

I was also telling her I liked to shoot the water gun water into my mouth, those same summer days.  It tasted good too, like cheap water gun plastic, the hard brittle see-thru pastel colored plastic that would splinter if harmed.

Do you remember that?  Do you remember the little white plastic plug that you kept pushed in so the water gun water wouldn’t escape?

Ming is at the movies, but the mockingbird is here, singing.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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