It seems that since I first had to deal with an alarm clock, the last few decades years months weeks days I’ve been mentally sleeping and hitting the snooze button more often than is healthy.

And, yes, I have had a love/hate with waking up since pre-school …

.. slap …

No. You have no need to slap. Wake up.

Er, slap?

What did I just say?

Slap, damnit!

Ahem, stop hitting me.

“Just 5 more minutes … ?”  

Oh, you want just 5 more minutes? Will that make you happy? Okay, that’s fine.

SLAP, GOD DAMNIT!

Seriously? Do you REALLY think this will help? Fine. Keep slapping …every five minutes I’ll keep beeping at you, louder, and louder … go ahead. Keep slapping me. See how much good it does you. I’ll still be here. Unless you can outsmart me. Which I doubt. If it were the night before, sure you could. But in the morning? I WILL WIN! Will a mere 5 minutes make the difference?

Yes, maybe they will … zzzzz … SLAP!

Ahhh, my fingers finally find the right button, and once they focus in? SLAP! Oh, thank god … zzzzzz, drool … thank god, 5 more minutes …
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There is 5 minutes of respite from my brain. (SLAP!) Thank-friggin-god.

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For this girl, the girl who lives and dies by her calendar … the minutes, the hours, and even the months … they have passed her by. No, not only have they passed her by, they have ceased to have meaning.

And that? Is unacceptable. UN-ACCEPT-ABLE.

She lives by, and for, her calendar. What happened? She NEVER hit the snooze …

(Okay, that is a lie. She has ALWAYS hit snooze. But, really? Where in the hell is that up and at ‘em grrl that I once was, that I once knew so well? The one that had a place for everything, and everything in its place? Where people existed and lived in tiny, and tidy, boxes?

Where did those places go? Where did those boundaries disappear to?

I have never been good at boundaries. No, no. No … scratch that. I can’t think of that just now, so …

… SLAP!

Zzzzzzzz …
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Truly, I am good at boundaries, real or perceived; I am just not good at boundaries of my own creation. Nor am I good at telling YOU where MY boundaries are.

When I see you turning inward? I see that as me hitting a nerve. A nerve I should back away from. When I toe that line? And I see you grit your teeth? Again, my palms turn outward, in subordination. The boundaries YOU put up? I am good at honouring. At that point, I only gently hit the snooze button, instead of slapping it. I figure that when you are ready to wake up, I will be there, a cup of coffee in hand.

The boundaries *I* put up? Not so much. You, my true friends, honour them. Me? Eh, not so much. Even if I was the architect of said boundaries. When they beep at me?

SLAP!
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As for those boxes? Those tiny and tidy boxes? Those were also boundaries. But they were none of my creation. (Okay, maybe some of them were. I still expect you to be there for me, with coffee in hand, even if I may not deserve it … )

I started to kick them in, those boxes; I started to kick them down. The huffing and puffing? Yeah, that was me. I started to blow at them. And finally … finally I realized this … they were made of not straw, but also of sticks. And? When I blew on them?

The walls fell down. I saw black, and I saw and white. That was what I expected. It was the brick house that killed my lungs.
 
The bricks were white. And they were black. And I tried to blow both colours, black and white, onto them. I had no breath of grey. If I had blown grey, I would have blown that damn house down a lot sooner. At that time, I didn’t learn my lesson. Instead I went off in a huff …
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SLAP!

 Aw, shit! I am starting to see. Instead of huffing and puffing …

… I started to see life in all its variegations. In light grey; dark grey; charcoal; black, white; dare I say it? I … I started to see life in … in … plaid … at least the plaid of the tartan of the modern Douglas Grey …
 
There IS black. And there IS white. Huge swathes of them. And in between? There is grey.

Yes. I was the big bad wolf. And? I was one, and all, of the three little pigs. Even though I was the wolf, I was also the pig(s). And I was blowing against myself.

And really? Maybe I should have saved my breath.

I think if that big bag blowhard wolf, and any one of those ego-centric little pigs, actually sat down together, and actually talked? That entire fairy tale? It may have turned out quite different.

They could have seen the beauty of grey.

(This album really made an impact on me. And this song? Honestly, taught me the absolute, and unknown, beauty of grey.) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1s5PilVZn8
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Not so long ago, I saw life in color. I saw it even in pink.

Always wanting to please; instead of ME supporting MY limits (just 5 more minutes, just one more hit of the snooze button, and maybe they’ll just go away) …

Those 5 minutes?

They were me; hoping that others would see my invisible walls. A way for me to try to heal. And hoping they, those boundaries and people, would realize their time was come. To prove that they were true friends. And family … but? At the same time? I wanted them to shake me. Shake me from my infernal snooze. But at the same time …

Allow me that 5 minute respite. Just 5 … minutes … that’s all I needed … (SLAP!)

At that time in life, I was really hoping that people (friends or not) would see that I was vulnerable. And raw. And broken. Holy shit, was I broken! I wanted them to feel it. Without me spelling it out. Not only did I want them to feel it, I wanted them to taste it. And that? Was so incredibly selfish.

But, at that time, I didn’t state, nor did I draw, boundaries. And though I hit the snooze button, I didn’t tell them, my nearest and dearest, that I had hit snooze …

And for that?

I am so sorry. I am sorry that my walls hurt you. I am sorry that I didn’t let you in. To let you know the deep, and dark, BS that I was going through.

I am sorry that I told you that I needed those 5 minutes, and that I was so earnest, but that I also needed, nay, I wanted, you to wake me up … (I SLAPPED YOU)
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It has been years since I have had a full, and restful, nights sleep. I keep hitting that snooze. And, I’m now realizing this … if I don’t feed my heart, and my soul … no matter how much “sleep” I get, no amount of snoozing will feed me. Or make me feel restful.

I think I know this, at least now … I need to define my boundaries. And not just that, I need to support them, even if it seems an Atlantean task.

Even if I say that I need 5 more minutes? I am lying.
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I think I understand, now, how Atlas got those killer trapezius muscles – it wasn’t from holding up the weight of the entire world. Be we gods, we demi-gods, we mere mortals … we can *all* withstand any amount of physical BS. It’s the emotional ties to the physical, that slowly kill us … and build up those shoulder muscles …

 … for the longest time I truly, and honestly, felt that I was Atlas – I had to hold up my family. And the globe? That globe was the memory of my mother. And later? The memory of my father.

And never could I live up to either memory.  Even though I held up their world; even though their world was not my own. My shoulders? Are not theirs. I am learning this.

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As for Mom, that memory, that holding … was put upon me. When my dad died, I took that upon myself. In each case, I felt that I was the person to carry their torch. And now?

Now I realize … each of them chose their own path. And that *I* am their crossroad. And? Whatever path that I may choose, both of them, as individuals, and as a couple, and as my parents … they will support me. They will visit me in dreams, to tell me if I am on the right path, or if I am “off my fuckin’ rocker”. But either way …

I am choosing my path. And, finally (FINALLY), I realize that both Mom and Dad are behind me. 100%. Not because they agree with me, but because I am them. And they are me.

And that? Is all can I hope for.

This is all I hope for: for my friends, or my children (who are still yet to be realized), and for you. You who are reading this. This is all I can hope for – that I am good enough. For you, and for me.
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This started as a way to kick myself in the ass to reclaim my space. And then it took a turn for the bizarre. But? Really? The reasons for the space no longer being my own? Those reasons are … they just are. They are both good, and they are bad. It makes me realize that I still need to shore up my boundaries. And they show me that I *DO* have a good heart. Even if that heart leads me astray …

And so, once again my brain leads my heart back to lyrics. (And I find myself wondering why I think of my ex … well, maybe I don’t actually wonder. I think I do finally know … )

You had and lost the one thing
You kept in a safe place
Remember the face
Of the girl who had made you her own
And how you left her alone

But, now that I AM past my ex, why do I make things harder than they should?

Maybe I should just keep it simple. Simple, as it should be.

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I just smacked the alarm (again!) and wished for just 5 more minutes.

Through my groggy state I have realized that, those 5 minutes? They are up. And that the time to wake?

It is now.

The girl and the ghost?

They are me.

And, for now? I am okay with that.
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For a long time? I hid myself, from myself. But no longer. Even if it does take me at least 5 minutes, I will accept my beauty – my hidden beauty of grey, of pink, and of my past ghosts, and lives.  

And, if you don’t like that?

Fuck off.