What It Seems

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• April 21, 2024

You wake up late again, and instead of rising, you sort your dreams. Sometimes there’s half a dozen you remember, ranging from fun to frightening, or straight confusing. But perhaps the ones you hate most are the ones that mesh with reality. The ones that mimic conversations in real life, or things you should have done. And you wonder what symptom of mental illness is this. In the quiet of morning, you’re able to sift out memories from movies your subconscious made in your slumber, but you worry. Oh yes, you worry. That one day it won’t be so easy. That sanity is further away now than ever.

The irony is, nearly ten years ago, you wrote a book about this. About a girl who cannot differentiate what happens in life and what happens in dreams. If you knew for sure life would immediate art, perhaps you would have written a book about someone who is happy, in love, and self actualizing their dreams. But happy stories usually don’t make the best literature. And you hate that it’s been so long since you’ve written a novel. And you hate that you haven’t written more screenplays. And you hate that you’re no longer an employed writer.

There are moments, in this limbo, between what was, and the unknown to come, you feel a dreadful deja vu. That this is how it’s always been. You’ve been here before. And you’ll be here again. And you hate this feeling. You don’t want to live life over again and again. For these days are filled with much turbulence. Your heart is lonely. Your head is spiraling. Your eyes searching, searching, searching… if for nothing else  but a path to run.

You either don’t sleep. Or sleep too much. You know who you are, but there are pieces of you scattered in your past. Some of them you want back. Some you’d leave behind. You remember what it’s like to want to die. You remember what it’s like to want to live. You remember that a bottle will help you temporarily forget.

They tell you it’s going to be okay. That is going to be alright. You don’t believe them. Even as you look serene. Calm. You nod your head. You’re reminded you’ve survived, and at times, triumphed over hard times before— and you were unsure then.

Someone you’ve just met says, “Lori doesn’t seem to be a troublemaker.” And you know you have a somewhat innocent looking face. But you’re not quite as young as they think you are. And your thoughts are nothing but trouble. You are not what you seem. So you must assume, that life too is not what it seems right now.