This was an old blog I found saved on my hard drive. It's Nothing like I've ever written before and I'm actually really quite proud of the picture it paints. I was stretching my muscles with this one. Enjoy!
Warning: This was written VERY late at night as a recount of a dream I had. It's a tad gruesome and VERY emo sounding. I am also under the influence of an influx of hormones and cannot be held responsible for any thing I say as of late. Read with careful footing.
The table sits in the middle of a light. Like a scene out of bad cop movie it illuminates the very center of the table. But instead of a smoking detective and a dejected/overly egotistical criminal, I'm alone. And in place of crime scene photo's or some such evidence my heart sits.
Now I'm talking real heart, with the three branches of the aorta, the chambers, the nodes, everything. Not so different then the pig hearts I watched mercilessly dissected in Anatomy lab. It looks like Jason, Freddy, or some such other equally scary villain from a horror flick has been by. Yet, seeing my heart sitting there on the table doesn't frighten me. It makes me nervously happy.
Next to my heart is one of those manila padded packing envelopes. Much like the ones C.D.'s are sent in. All that's left to do is to put the contents inside, seal it, and put on a stamp. I'm amazed at the fact that such an object could fit into an envelope. It's so simple. Simple.
But putting my hand in my pocket reveals the problem. The invitation I had sent only weeks ago has been sent back without an answer. No resounding "Yes" no disappointing "No" just....nothing. I'm not sure whether to send it or not. My heart just sits there on the table. Collecting germs and dust and God knows what else waiting to either be shoved back into the deep recesses of my body beneath the protective layer of my ribs or be placed, lovingly into the envelope to be sent to someone else.
I mean, come on! It's my heart, how hard would it have been to answer the invitation with some clear, defined choice? It's not like I'm offering my kidney or a lung. I'm not even sending my useless spleen. I'm sending the heart. The stuff of poets, people.
Should I have offered my brain, would that have garnered more interest? No, no one wants the brain when they could have the heart! The heart is meatier. It's bloodier. The brain only leaks Cerebrospinal Fluid, who cares about that?
So I sit. I hm and ha for a time, wondering exactly what to do. They don't have a manual for this. There is no "What to do with your heart now that it's out and you don't know where to put it" for Dummies, they have Circutbuilding, Tarot, Baby Massage (?), Sex, and yes, Mormonism for Dummies, but no yellow book on this.
What the hell am I supposed to do. Emily Post, I need your help!
No help comes. So I sit in a straight backed metal chair, just watching. Watching as my heart dries out and begins to stain the crappy plastic tabletop. Not even bleach is going to get this out in the morning.
I don't think any amount of scrubbing will get this mess off my shirt either. For crying out loud there is a giant crater in my chest, there is no way you can cover that up with an overlarge sweater or a blanket or something. There is a crater that would let me fit in on the moon staring up at me from my torso.
So what do I do. I do nothing....
I just sit there and watch my heart start to shrivel. Lack of fluid, lack of oxygen, lack of use. I don't need a microscope to watch the tissues die. Anyone could see that.
I do nothing.....nothing but cry over the loss of something so cherished, I loved that damn thing. The only sound that punctuates the cries is complete silence, silence and indifference. Silence so palpable it feels like a second skin.
No I must sit here until I can make a decision or something happens....whichever comes first I guess.