Words Feel Defective

Words feel defective today, like they're not doing the job they have. I love words. I love that they allow us to communicate all these subtle things, ideas, feelings, plans, directions. I love to make words happen.

But then there's that thing where you repeat a word over and over, or stare at it on a sign for a long time, and it stops making sense.

You're like, "Yield. Yi-eel-duh. Yeee-uld. Yelled? I think I forgot how to say it. None of the ways sound right anymore."

You feel like maybe you better not say 'yield' in front of anyone, because all the ways to say it sound wrong and they're probably going to laugh at you.

If your kid asked you right now what 'yield' means, you'd want to look it up to be sure you were still right, because the meaning feels gone.

Except that's how I feel right now with all words, not just one.

I want to tell a friend I'm glad a thing went well for her, and "I'm glad for you" sounds like it doesn't make any sense, even though intellectually I know it does. Those are the right words. But I have this paranoid feeling that if I type it and hit 'send' she'll message back, "What does that mean? Is that English?"

I type "I'm glad" and before I can go any further, my brain goes,

"Glad? What's that? Happy? You're happy? Or a trash bag. Glad is a trash bag. Why would you tell her you're happy? She's the one who had the good thing happen. She's happy. You're not a trash bag. That doesn't make sense. Why are you saying trash bag to her? Glad is the trash bag, right? Maybe that's the wrong word."

It's perfectly silly and I have to make words happen today for work, but my brain insists that none of them make sense.

Now, to cross my fingers that this nice informal word-making pushed me past the block.

Stupid Bad Horrible Dream

I had the most terrifying dream ever.

I was standing in the grocery store parking lot when I heard someone yell something like "It's got silver in it!" I glanced around, and realized that it was a group of three teenagers, cheering the fact that the cart they'd stolen, which they only expected to hold free food, also contained an expensive silverware set.

I looked the other way, and there was an elderly man just getting the rear hatch of his vehicle open. He reached for his cart, and looked confused for a long moment before looking around, seeing the boys transferring the contents to their own trunk, and beginning to understand.

He started to walk toward them saying something very stereotypically old-man, like "Hey, you young hooligans!"

I yelled at him to stay back, I'd call the police. He was a fairly sturdy looking old guy, but I didn't want him getting hurt trying to take his groceries back.

I pulled my phone out, and started fumbling with all the buttons and things that seem so complicated to use in dreams, and suddenly it was on the ground and I was trying to find air for my lungs.

One of the guys had rushed me, hard, and knocked the air right out of me. Now he was holding me so tightly I couldn't move or breathe.

He relaxed his hold a tiny bit and started to explain to me how we were gonna stand right here and not make any trouble while the other fellows got to a safe distance - and I broke loose from him and started to run.

So he pulled out a cattle prod, which it turns out can shoot bolts of lightningesque electricity several yards, and used it to knock me to the ground.

Lying there, I watched and waited for it to stop. When I could stand, he demonstrated to me I was in his power. He threw me the prod.

He told me to bring it to him.

Instead, I tried to shoot him with it. He just laughed as the bright yellow bolts bounced harmlessly off his body. I moved closer and closer and he continued to seem to feel nothing.

"You've built an immunity!" I gasped, finally getting it but I was within his reach by then, and then I was a captive again.

He sat me on the sidewalk in front of the store and whistled for a bunch of little kids. All these little kids, like six and eight years old, sat down in a circle around me and started laughing, some playing jacks or cards, doing whatever.

And I knew I couldn't get up and leave, because there were so many, and if I moved they'd grab at me. I could get away from them, but I'd have to hurt one or more to do it.

And I sat there while he went inside. And I sat there and waited until my mom came out of the store and told me he'd been arrested.

And we went and got into the van and listened as the news said "....but the real hero was the woman inside the store who saw something going on and called 911 quietly....." and I felt like a giant idiot, and also knew they were patting themselves on the back despite having not gotten the other two, and if I'd done it right the old guy would have his groceries and silverware.

And Mama wouldn't let me call the police to give them the additional information until we were 'back on the highway.'  I'm not sure why.

And I sat there and did what I was told.

I am tired, angry, and frustrated beyond all bounds of my ability to cope. I am tired of fighting uphill everything constantly.

I'm sick of thinking about fire.

I'm sick of worrying about custody and what's going on when the kids aren't here.

I'm tired of struggling to have the energy to get anything done.

I'm sick of family members hurting other family members, and of knowing there's only one right side, but also knowing that if I take it, people I love are going to hate me.

I wish I could just lay down and sleep for ten years or forever.