WHEN YOUR SUBCONSCIENCE GOES TO THE MOVIES

If there's one thing you must be able to do in this exercise in insanity called "life," it's to be able to SHUT DOWN your mind at the appropriate times. Much easier said than done.

When I started this late last night, I was on the verge of falling asleep right on top of my keyboard. But the mind was racing 800mph (even with 'mother's little helper' kicking in) so what to do, what to do?

Write about it. What else?

Insomniacs the world over can identify with this issue. Good solid sleep has been replaced by "nocturnal awakenings" as one doctor described it (yeah, I wake up 10-15 times a night ~ same thing isn't it?) and sleep deprivation is used to torture people, so we all know what it does to your brain. Fried egg, once over.

If you DO manage to fall asleep, your dreams may include those scary little clay characters (think Saturday Night Live's 'Mr. Bill'......"oh noooooooooooo!") coming at you from all directions, distorted wee people who may resemble friends or members of your family.

"Oh noooooooooooo!" for SURE.

If not little clay creatures, you may get to see a million re-runs of your life, all presented in mysterious ways, and all for you to interpret. Is it day residue (something you heard or saw during the day and unknowingly 'recorded' in your mind) is it your subconscience desperately trying to send you a message, or is it more simple than that? Spicy food, eating too much before bed, stress...who knows?

My dreams have always been vivid, extremely detailed and bizarre. I even took a course, 'Dream Interpretation,' at NYU to see if I could figure out what the hell was going on inside my head when I was asleep. That's where I learned about 'day residue' so it did help to sort out the nonsense from the message.

I dream a lot about the past...so much so, that there are times when I wake up and think I'm actually in my old room as a teenager. I've read that if you dream about the past a lot, that means your spirit is longing to return to a simpler time, when life was sweet and uncomplicated as it can only be for a child.

How lovely it would be to dream about the happiest summer of your life, and then never wake up.

But that's a special kind of heaven, isn't it...?

To quote just part of Paul Williams' song (recorded by Frank Sinatra):

"Dream away child

Let your dreams run wild

Or a lifetime of worries 

Might claim you

Dream away, child

Let your dreams run wild

Or the years

And the tears shed

Might tame you..."

"NEIGHBORLY" OR NOSY??

I grew up in a neighborhood where, if you asked too many questions, you were either bluntly told to mind your business or asked the question, "Are you writing a book? Leave that chapter out."

But for the past 20 years, I have been living in a building with 'neighbors' who remind me of Sting's song, "Every breath you take, every move you make, every step you take, I'LL BE WATCHING YOU..."

And if there is one thing I can't stand, it's nosy people who have no good reason to ask anything except for the fact that they love to gossip. I, not an inherently rude person, have had to become extremely rude over the years in order to fend off these mindless, manners-challenged people who just happen to live in the same building but assume that every GD thing I do is fodder for their inane attempts at conversation (and the ensuing gossip.)

If I'm outside on the terrace, I get "reports" of seeing me tending my plants, or my cats' activities. Fine. I put up a trellis, covered by a bamboo roll-up shade and lots and lots of big fat silk grape-ivy leaves to block the terrace viewers. Think they got the message? Ha! "Your terrace looks very pretty." Uh, can you maybe think of another reason for my blocking your view other than beautification?

If I bring something downstairs for recycling and happen to bump into one of the building's official Big Nose Brigade, it's 20 Questions Time. Excuse me, if you WANT the damned thing, just take it and don't bother me with stupid questions that do not require an answer.

And now that I am in the midst of relocating to another state and all that that entails, some even had the unmitigated gall to come to my apartment and "see" what they could grab for themselves. HELLO? Did I post a MOVING SALE sign anywhere? Because I sure don't remember doing that, and I certainly do not recall inviting you to annoy me. I'm not even safe walking to the supermarket these days, the interrogation is relentless and irritating as hell.

It's going to be a totally exhilarating experience to actually live in a private house, with a private laundry room and polite neighbors who know enough to wave hello, occasionally stop by for a friendly chat, and then take their leave without asking a single question that they already know is none of their business.

I don't know if this is an "Italian" thing, or something ingrained in me because of those early years, but I think it's safe to say that I am the living embodiment of "You can take the girl out of the neighborhood, but you can't take the neighborhood out of the girl."

And Robert Frost was right: "Good fences make good neighbors." 

ESPECIALLY if you live in an apartment building.

BETTE DAVIS EYES? WHAT RHYMES WITH CREPE PAPER EYES??

We all know the song made famous by Kim Carnes, "Bette Davis Eyes." An appropriate tribute to a woman who more than earned her place in movie history, taking on movie moguls who thought she was 'not pretty enough' to be a real star. She showed them, didn't she? 'Pretty' pales in comparison to sheer talent.

And those eyes! Those magnificent, intelligent and expressive 'Bette Davis eyes' that took in everything...both in movies and real life.

Sadly, those same eyes suffered the fate that we all do, disgusting gravity along with the stupid excesses of our youth. Smoking, drinking, drugs, too much time spent in the sun...they all take their toll and, suddenly, you look in a mirror and you're staring at Miss Davis again, but this time as Baby Jane Hudson. AAACCCKKKK, how the hell did this happen??

Well, if Bette Davis could deal with it as well as she did in her old age ~ "Old age ain't no place for sissies" ~ so can the rest of us.

Oh, but how I LOATHE the crepe paper eyes...try putting on makeup. You start out looking like Baby Jane and, after a few hours, wind up resembling Alice Cooper as said makeup slowly makes its way into the nasty little cracks, crow's feet (who invited them?) and rivulets that now surround your peepers.

Because I am myopic (near-sighted) I was able to fool myself for a long time by not standing too close to the mirror. Kind of blurs things out, like putting Vaseline on a camera lens. Now I just thank every spirit in the sky that I wear both regular and sunglasses, because the more camouflage, the better! Maybe those 1950s hats with dark veils will make a comeback! That would be swell...

In the meantime (in between time...) we trudge on, crepe paper eyes and all, making the best of it as naturally as we can. No tacky "work" for this kid. No botox shots-fake-frozen-face, no outrageous plastic surgery (although I would consider tightening up my eyes...) no cellulite fish-lips, and certainly no multiple face-lifts that make your skin look like it's ready to tear open at the slightest touch. YUCK.

According to Popeye, "I YAM WHAT I YAM" and that is how I shall remain.....unless I can afford a (wink) eye job!

With much love to Bette Davis, then AND now!

GOOD MORNING ANXIETY!

The Scream ~ Edvard Munch

(...with enormous gratitude to artist Edvard Munch for perfectly capturing that pit-of-your-stomach quicksand feeling of gut-wrenching anxiety.)

Of course, the song "Good Morning Heartache" will forever be attached to the brilliant Miss Billie Holiday who knew, all too well, what heartache meant. Anxiety too, for sure.

So, replace 'heartache' with 'anxiety' and there you have it. Not quite as poetic-romantic as heartache, but given the current state of the universe, infinitely more applicable.

The hilarious Mel Brooks did a movie called 'High Anxiety' which is exactly what I lived with for as long as I can remember. Because living with certifiably crazy people in a constantly volatile atmosphere can do that to a young person. 

And 'growing up,' but still embroiled in crazy family dynamics not only exacerbates the problem, but also allows it to continue. It took a ruptured colon and emergency surgery to finally wake me up to the toxic effects of certain family members and their negative contributions to my life.

And when my mother (Miss Eternal High Anxiety Queen of the Universe) passed on, I was left with two choices: either cut the demonic cord and strike out on my own, or continue to allow miserable people to dominate my life. Take a guess what I did. If you guessed the former, bingo! 

Didn't totally eliminate the anxiety, but certainly decreased it to a more manageable level. I mean, seriously, who needs energy vampires in one's life?

So.....

"Good morning anxiety, you old gloomy sight. 
Good morning anxiety, thought we said goodbye last night. 
I turned and tossed 'til it seemed that you had gone. 
But here you are with the dawn. 

Wish I'd forget you but you're here to stay. 
It seems I met you when my [life] went away.
Now every day I start by saying to you
Good morning anxiety, what's new...?"

And to all les miserabs who were left behind?

The pit of my stomach thanks you, my colon thanks you, my cat thanks you, and I thank you!