Straitjacket Writers

Inside the Troubled Minds of Authors

Author: Penelope Pinprick

Nightmare Chronicles: A Homeless Future

Last night my nightmares came back with a vengeance.  I fell asleep, completely exhausted, and was quickly whisked into the future.  Dreamtime knows no boundaries, no rules. Nightmares can do anything. They are all powerful and in my mind, in this particular state, they are real.

I was homeless. I smelled bad, my clothes were rough, torn, dirty and not my own. I had a hat but my hair was stringy and dirty underneath and it itched. I was hungry.  My belly twisted against the back of my spine and the only bright spot of this particular nightmare was that it occurred to me that I was finally thin.

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Full On Ice Cream Mode

This week was epic. I could feel it starting on Monday. There have been big changes to my family life and home routine. I always take on everything with a Rosie the Riveter attitude – CAN DO! But by Tuesday, I knew I was in over my head. Wednesday was even worse, and by Thursday I pulled all the shades, turned on cartoons for the littles, turned on the fire place to ward off the chill, and slept for six hours while my kids jumped on me and had a great time soaking up all the Playhouse Disney their little hearts could desire.

Get off your butt! You can do this!

It’s been a long time since I zoned out like that. I have meds to keep me from doing that. I have to take those meds because I love my kids and I don’t want DCS taking them away from me.

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Nightmare Chronicles: One Morning Like a Thousand Others

I had a nightmare last night. It was the real kind. The kind that holds onto you even when you wake up to an adorable little girl shoving a mint brownie in your face.

“Breakfast in bed, mommy!” she cries.

I wipe the sleep out of my eyes, but my head is still stuck in that house – with them.

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Nucking Futs

Robin Williams died yesterday and most of the world who knows anything about popular culture began mourning.

I did not.

It was a strange feeling, not being sad because of the tragic death of a talented person. I was disturbed by my lack of horror at the news, but still couldn’t make myself feel anything.

It’s not that I don’t love his movies, or think he’s brilliant, or wish he’d not reached that level of sadness and depression. In fact, I immediately thought of his movie, “What Dreams May Come” where he travels through heaven and hell to save his wife who’s committed suicide.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that movie, the irony, and I couldn’t sleep last night.

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