I’ve been too busy pushing forward to really take in the accomplishment our country made on June 26th. I was proud that my generation made a change, so the government truly represented the people just that little bit more. It really sank in when I scrolled through my Facebook last night.
I finally found the rainbow filter and applied it myself. The naysayers put off my mood a little bit, especially when I found that there were people that supported my family structure that were angered by the ruling. You can’t be cool with my family and not be cool with homosexuality- that just makes no sense to me. My enthusiasm was restored by the celebration of supporters. My friends were showing off the window drawings they made on their cars, their rainbow adornments, memes, inspired drawings, and even the reactions of other countries like Ireland and Germany, also celebrating our step forward.
Bailey was the first to inform me about the ruling. I responded to her written message by saying, ‘we can get married now!’ referring to me and her, so that the four of us would all be married, even if it wasn’t to ‘each other’.
‘And we can even change our names for free! Let’s get married Sunday!’ Her spontaneity freaks me out sometimes. I was trying to make a suggestion as to when would be a better time, and wondered, what are we waiting for?
Note: Edward reminded me that they’re closed Sundays, and he’s going out of town, so we’ll be waiting for him to get back before we discuss tying the knot. We need to look into the legality of name changing.
by Charlotte E. Wilde
There’s a sweet-spot in my sleeplessness, somewhere between ten too early and three too late, where I’m certain I become clairvoyant. There’s this one perfect, shivering instant hovering between a thought or remnant of a phrase where my fingers twitch in beat to the scattered dimension of my distraction and linger on towards total mindless meditation. It’s blinding, stark white like a near-death experience, and in that space I read illuminated endless future potential for action and retroactive possibilities of change.
It exists, but I never find it when I’m looking just as I never have figured out how to keep it for more than the span of a blink or a sigh. I suppose I must resign myself to yet another night of hopeful anticipation, a would-be seeker wandering well-mined moments alone. Its3am or thereabouts but numbers cease to hold meaning past their honeymoon, which blooms like a pumpkin at midnight on the dot. I’m awake still but day-dreaming lost, airfield circling and horse whisker kissing but wondering if perhaps you might look for us sometimes too. Tonight I promise not to drift if you’ll only turn back, come hold sway in my helical thoughts where the only score kept will be the one set to the grey-toned reel of our silent short. Enjambed surrealism with inter-titles born of an Underwood– the flaws of which remain unconcealed by hindsight and such lamented imperfections can only be construed as to-be-reviewed on this, our relentless quest for rose-filtered perfection.
Then it happens– two ticks ’till sweet-spot o’clock and I begin to remember how, somewhere in all that rain, I forgot the importance of sleeplessness at all. My head hit your shoulder and ignored your annoyed,
for when I slept I dreamt I was yours.
I focus on the echo, not the sound, of my steps on the wet asphalt, the contents of the bags I carry shifting with each step. The echo is my blinders as I focus on my steps ahead, a metronome, the only diversion from the monotony being to step in the shallowest of puddles or around the mud heaps that built up in the street.
Something else broke the monotony. I had ignored most of the construction site around me, until my eyes landed upon a few water bottles abandoned on the small patch of sidewalk that had been created recently.
Initially, my thought was, ‘I hate that construction workers tend to leave their trash,’ and brainstorm ways they can keep their trash together. Upon closer examination I noticed that two of the bottles were unopened. Mh, bottled water…
+1 water bottle
+1 water bottle
I considered the third one. I could dump it and take the bottle to work where we have recycle bins. I calculated the weight of my inventory and decided otherwise.
My attention was stolen by the musical notes dancing in step with the golden character hiding behind a striped protrusion that resembled that of a formation in Dr. Seuss’s world. “Hello, Trumpy!” the narrator greeted the animated trumpet. I hadn’t noticed that I was watching wide eyed, glued in place, frozen in an unnatural position leaning towards the kitchen but attention paid elsewhere.
There is something about children’s cartoons that I am not immune to. I think they’re designed to appeal to some primal instinct so kids might actually hold still, allowing parents a precious moment to do other things, like dishes, which I think I was going for until this phenomenon happened. Trumpy’s brother Snarey came on the screen, and his animated walk was captivating. “I love how they made the snare drum move,” I remarked to Alice. She might word a few observations to the Girls as the story progressed, but aside from my one remark I was stuck. Just as I was able to pry myself from the world of Taratabong and turn back to my task, a new character was introduced. First the mom, then Pino, then my thoughts drifted back to the dishes and my feet finally managed to turn away and take a few steps in the right direction.
Then, Trumpy’s dad was introduced. I turned back slowly, and my eyes met Alice, who also looked away slowly from the screen to me and whispered my thoughts, “what was his name?”
Do we have dirty minds? Was there a poor translation from the Italian version? Maybe there’s a few letters that our ears are just not picking up; I must know how it is spelled. I combed through the interwebs, even doing searches on Wiki, and when that failed, putting every combination of key words I could in Google to get what I was searching for. I could not find the name of that trombone, and so, I wonder.
Daddy strummed loudly, but even louder were the thundering feet as the Girls twirled and jumped and rolled, too much motion in a tiny space in our crowded bedroom. I’m not sure what my deal is, I like to think that I’m overprotective, but I get pretty anxious when there is too much noise and action. I tried to be as relaxed as the other grownups, so only a few times did I tell Geraldine that she needed to calm down. I explained to her that when she’s in the Grownups room, she has to act a little more like a grown up. She went back to rolling all over the bed, and into Daddy’s guitar. Still, better than off the edge and into one of her sisters. Edward stopped the music abruptly and asked Alice to put the guitar up.
“Alright, we’re going to play a game,” he announced. “We’re going to wrestle, and I’m going to win, but here are the rules.” The girls squealed and bounced in place with anticipation. “There will be no screaming. No biting, no pulling hair. You can’t get off the bed.”
My eyes shot over to my purse on the corner on the bed, as well as Bailey’s jewelry box that Gina was told earlier not to play with, positioned carefully on the bedside table next to a few other trinkets. “No props,” I added.
“No props, take your purse,” he instructed me as I tried adjusting Guinevere in one arm so I could grab my purse with the other hand. I quickly left the room. I didn’t need to be there getting myself worked up just watching them wrestle, knowing that I couldn’t easily handle the chaos of simple dancing.
From the other side of the door I heard squeals of laughter, which are far more musical when you’re not watching.
I’ve been meditating a lot about human perception. Yesterday I toyed with the idea of what if shadows could be manipulated the way that light can. When you focus a light through a concave lens, there is a place in the ray where the light is focused into one point. I imagined someone able to step into a shadow that had been manipulated in the same way and stand in that point so that they were behind the shadow, but it wasn’t cast on them. Once I was able to wrap my head around it, it got pretty trippy. We’ve been watching a lot of Halo lately, which has had some influence on my thoughts. I’ve been contemplating, what if a human had to be raised amongst an alien species? The culture would be completely different, and some other things I probably could never imagine. But would the human be able to adapt even then? Considering that I was able to imagine a shadow being manipulated like light, and visualize something that I’ve never (and likely will never) witness, perhaps the human mind is capable of adapting to much. continue
It takes a character like Cortana to make me dream big for myself. I will mention again, the Ladies have a respect for Dr. Halsey of the Halo series. Her character is so intelligent that her mind became the blueprint for a top-of-the-line AI. The battle my family fights is not to prolong the human species, but is just to defend human equality. I want to be more capable. One of my favorite lines is, “I’m not walking around the ship I built with my hands cuffed.”
Sometimes I think it’s too late for me to be as impressive as I want to be. I was introduced to technology in my teens, all my peers had consoles and computers before I got a big-back, glass screen computer, and eventually a dysfunctional laptop that went online for one day before the battery completely expired. I didn’t get the early start that most super geniuses were gifted with. I don’t even have my twenties to catch up, because I have to take the most efficient money making route to keep the family afloat. I wanted to go to a sort of boot camp for nerds and learn to do programing. I wanted to become certified as an accountant. I can’t even go to school right now, and I’m not as good with numbers as I thought I was. Maybe I had apophenia, and perhaps it’s the ability to recognize patterns that made me believe I was good at equations for the figures.
Sometimes I remember a book by the name of “The Prophecy of the Stones”. After falling into a lake of memories, one of the protagonists sees all these faces surrounding her before she gets pulled back up into the boat. These visions are seen through the eyes of a girl dying many years before this scene takes place in her dream. One of the faces is her own, and she comes to the realization that in order for these protagonists to save the world, she needs to survive so that they can even exist.
I may not be a super genius. I suspect my husband may be close. And Guinevere, who greeted the world quickly, quietly, and with open and observant eyes, amazes me with the rate at which she sponges up everything around her. She and her siblings are very intelligent. I may not be able to become a doctor, but I do have an influence on the future. For example, with this case, I know we will win. It’s a matter of how. We want to teach our kids that you can’t be controlled with money; that Liberty is worth the fight. Jefferson himself said, “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots & tyrants.” We will teach our children that we will fight for what’s right, and maybe further along the bloodline, when it comes down to protecting our species, it will be because of our sacrifices that we pull through, knowing that it is worth the fight.