Not the sleeping kind– I’ve had those all along. (I think. It’s hard to say, I have a lemon-sized hole in my brain.)
Rather, I’ve begun again to have the kinds of dreams that you have in fits and flashes over the course of a day. Dreams like when you see a photograph and you think in a flash of excitement “I wanna go there!” Dreams like when you look at a building and you think “I want to live in a place like that.” Or even better: “I wanna build that.”
Most importantly, I’ve begun again to have the types of dreams where I see something or hear something or feel something and think “I want to write about that, I want to make a story about that!” It’s a little fire that flares up in my belly and it’s one of my favorite things in the world. I guess it’s more properly called “inspiration,” and I’ve hardly felt it over the last six months. I think the pilot light blew out.
I’m not sure what lit it again. It may have been climbing to the top of a Swiss mountain. (The air really is good. Those 19th century European bourgeois may have actually been onto something when they sent their sick to high altitudes to “take the cure.” Magic mountains indeed.) It may just be utterly and completely random, I can’t really say. But I can say that I hope to chance it doesn’t go out again.
It’s hard to describe the level of stultifying, stupefying oppressiveness that can overcome you when you go and get something like cancer in the fucking brain. I somehow (somehow!) managed to avoid feeling glum or depressed at all for the first few months… but then it came. Not like a cloud over your head, quite, unless that cloud is made of dense concrete and in addition to dangling perilously and constantly over your head also forms a wall directly in front of you that you just can’t quite see over or around. Ever. That’s how it appeared, that’s where it stayed, and damned if I knew how to get rid of it.
To be honest I’m not sure I have gotten rid of it. I’m not sure I really do see over or around that wall now. But I see things inside my head again that make me smile, and that might be more important.
It’s one of the tropes of blog writing (and to be honest, in my opinion one of the more ridiculous things about the form) to apologize when the gap between posts stretches into the weeks. I, however, do not apologize for not writing since, what, late August? I don’t apologize, because you don’t want to know what’s been going on inside this chanced brain since then. Some of you do know, and thank you for being there, for listening. But I guess I’m not the type who wants to entertain by subjecting others to pain, confusion or terror. (On that note, how do you spend years of your life producing something like “Requiem For a Dream”? I’ve always wondered that. I mean, it’s a really good movie, but you choose to subject yourself to that level of darkness? Every day? I guess that’s just not me. It’s unfathomable to me. “Airplane!” is fathomable to me.)
So here’s hoping that somehow I’ve taken the cure. I’ve taken some sort of cure at least, which is that I’ve moved on to the next step. And this one certainly feels better than the last one.
I guess it’s just good to dream again. It’s important to dream. It just might be the most important thing we have.
I can’t believe I lost sight of that for a minute. I hope I never do again.