How I Became a Ginger

I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Really deeply too. My mom’s worried I’m gonna get those tiny lines in between my eyebrows, [redacted] is worried I’m thinking way too much. He says I’m chartering “dangerous territory.” Because surely, a girl thinking this hard in the middle of playing beer pong while all her friends are laughing, is up to absolutely no good in her brain. And I guess he’s right. I’ve also been having really vivid dreams. I’ve been dreaming about people I probably shouldn’t dream of; telling them things the physical me had promised she’d never say. In these dreams though, I’m always running away, or giving some part of myself up. I’ve been jolting up when the alarm goes off, and almost falling out of bed in fear when someone wakes me up. So I’m thinking, I should be listening to these dreams, but I’m also thinking, how would I know what they’re trying to say? They’re speaking Russian and I’m speaking English and the accent is pulling me in, but all I’m really hearing is a whole lotta nothin. Well, I had a dream where I was still me and I was going through life as it is here; going through the motions and whatnot, but I had this condition where my throat would randomly fill up with red clay. It wasn’t painful, just extremely uncomfortable. There was so much of it in my throat though, and I’d pull so hard. I’d wrap egregious amounts of clay around my wrist and yank, but still, not all of it would come out. Though, just enough would to allow me to speak like normal to other people, even if I still felt increasingly uncomfortable. That’s the game of pretend; the pointy hat and shoes, the red nose and face paint, that’s the hidden identity, the agreeable facade I know all too well. Later in the dream I went to work, and my throat got full again, so I went to a trash can hidden in a room and tried to yank out just enough to get me through the day. But a coworker came in and saw me. Luckily for me, it was a friend of mine. They were extremely grossed out but tried to be kind, yelled, “sorry!” and left the room hastily, closing the door a little to fast behind them. Then, while I was in the middle of a conversation, my throat closed up again, and I couldn’t speak. I ran to the trash can to pull just enough out, trying to do it quickly before anyone could see, but there was way too much and it was taking way too long, and someone that wasn’t a friend saw me. I got fired for being inappropriate in the workplace. I woke up not long afterward. I had this dream multiple times a week for months until it went away, and now these vivid dreams where I’m falling and running away or in constant conflict have replaced the red clay. And when I am awake, I’m incredibly pensive. So lately it’s been feeling a little like I’m not on earth. It’s been feeling a little sedentary and isolated. I’m not sure how to come out of it, or if I even want to. I’ve made it very cozy in my brain; I’ve hung up pictures on the walls and lit my candles. Though, one of my favorite excerpts of all time is from Woman Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola. In this favorite excerpt of mine she speaks of a little matchstick girl. Pinkola describes the little matchtick girl as a girl who chooses comfort everytime; the little matchstick girls sits in the freezing cold, and instead of using her matches for good, she just uses them for warmth. She knows she’s blowing through the matches, and she knows she’s going to run out of them and freeze to death, but she burns them anyways. She’s caught up in how comfortable she can be in the moment, and doesn’t ever move which would make all the difference for her. Instead of saving her life, she chooses comfort everytime. She’ll die for comfort. Pinkola used this little matchstick girl as imagery for creative fantasy. But, I fear I’m becoming this little matchstick girl. Not the depletion of creative fantasy, but the depletion of expression. I’m not nuturing my ability to think very deeply, I’m just surrendering to it. I’d like to master this pensive nature of mine, but it takes a long time to master things, and my mind is cozy, so I just keep lighting these matches. I know I only have about five left, but that doesn’t seem to mater to me. I don’t know why. Maybe I should dye my hair.