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Halloween Early Morning

November 2, 2007
I’ve been uninstalling and reinstalling parts of my computer (it is acting up something awful) so my time on-line has not been consistent. The geek squad is scheduled to come out Sunday afternoon. I wanted to post on Halloween but could not.

We did have a very good Halloween. The child dressed in the costume I have pictured to the left, a Coffin Vampiress, except that is not her, it is the photo from the Spirit Halloween advertisement. Last month when the catalog came, she zoomed in on it immediately and we bought it right away before we lost our chance. We painted her nails dark purple last night and this morning I applied purple eye shadow from her eyelids up to her brow and dark purple lipstick. I answered the telephone this morning after I dropped the child off at school to hear a tiny little voice say, “Mommy can I keep my costume on?” You know when you know something is going to happen happens, that is the way I felt. Driving to school, I was thinking about telling her just to keep the costume on because there was so much drama involved in removing the high collar and pulling the dress over her head while taking care with the delicate sleeves and, I knew she was loving every second wearing it.

Halloween day started with a dream in the early hours of the morning making a light hearted but eerie atmosphere perfect for the awaited night’s activities. The child had eaten too late Tuesday night, was too excited about Halloween and because of that, woke up around 2:30 am with a tummy ache. I had to hold the child’s hair if you know what I mean. When I fell back to sleep the dream occurred. It was late dusk and getting darker. I was making my way through a pedestrian crossing, but slowly because an invisible force was hindering my pace, I was confident of my success nevertheless. It was a wide east/west crossing covering three lanes traveling northbound and three traveling south bound. There were no cars around and I had the signal to cross. The crossing was at the top of a steep hill so the threat of cars appearing out of nowhere loomed. As I reached the middle, I saw a group of children hesitating to cross so I turned back, called to them to come while extending my hand in a show of inviting trust. As the first set crossed, more children emerged, causing me to double back again and again. From a side street two adults appeared, one immediately placed a stop sign attached to a long ten-foot pole in my hand. They were anxious to get away and thanked me for relieving their duties as they rushed off. Before I could tell them that I was not a crossing guard they had vanished. The octagon stop sign part was attached to the pole by a pivoting joint. However, each time I tried to get the sign to stand up straight so the oncoming cars could see the sign it would plop down and fold over. I fooled with the joint but feared that I would get pinched while also fearing that a car not seeing the sign would plow right through the crossing. Over and over I would position the sign upright and it would fall back down. Stop was on both sides of the sign so for a second I scolded myself for wasting time trying to get it to remain erected when it could be read if it was up or down. However, stop read upside down when the sign would fold over leaving me with a useless sign. Finally, I figured a way to keep the sign up high for the cars to see but I had to painfully contort my body to do so. I stood there in pain as a never-ending stream of children cross; I stood there like that until I woke up.

*This post is brought to you by a twenty something year old angry and raging South Korean-American woman who received a privileged American education from Stanford University. There is no history of trauma or noteworthy abuse in what some would call an idyllic childhood. Her grandparents, both maternal and paternal, immigrated to America with small children. Having endured the brunt of forced assimilation, her parents dutifully and properly Americanised her with the intentions that she would forgo the pain and suffering that they had experienced as first generation immigrants. There are people who run through life and there are people who walk through life, she however sits through life, specifically sitting in a seething raging stew of her own making. Nothing turns her burner up more than the thought of white people. She hates them so much, particularly the women, that she creates imaginary confrontational scenarios that conclude with her scratching and pulling some blond woman’s hair completely out. Often because of her anger and subsequently poor diet and lack of sleep, she develops cold sores. Many people have taken the liberty to tell her that it is a form of Herpes which makes her visibly lose composure. When a sore develops, she avoids others and keeps her head down. Even though she has had cold sores her entire life and knows with the utmost certainty that the virus is not a result of promiscuous sex but more probably a transmission from a careless relative when she was a little girl, she considers it her mark of shame, shame for hating a people that she so desperately wants to be while failing to love the people from where she has come. —Character created by You Don’t Know Me™ Productions

  1. Rent Party permalink
    November 2, 2007 9:57 pm


  2. Kitty Glendower permalink
    November 2, 2007 11:33 pm

    That is what my writing has come down to invoking eh? No words, just symbols, perhaps a grunt next time or maybe a gasp.


  3. Rent Party permalink
    November 3, 2007 1:53 am


  4. momo permalink
    November 3, 2007 1:07 pm

    Oh, the anticipation! Does she count her candy after? Do pieces of it mysteriously disappear in the night because the parents sneak in and pick out their favorites?

    My child and her Halloween crew had a meeting last month to decide on their costume theme. They reached their decision by consensus, which meant that it took a really long time, but they decided on Charile and the Chocolate Factory. There were several Oompa Loompas, a Charlie, and some characters I wasn’t sure about, but they were pleased.

    What a vivid dream! I haven’t remebered a dream for so long, I miss them.

  5. Kitty Glendower permalink
    November 4, 2007 1:27 am

    Oh, the anticipation! Does she count her candy after?

    Yes, she counts it and now there seems to be a new activity that has become a separate and fun activity in itself and that is the examination of which candies look sinister (poisoned) and which candy do not.

    Do pieces of it mysteriously disappear in the night because the parents sneak in and pick out their favorites? Normally, but no go this year, no one seemed to want to give the little beggars DOTS! What has this world come to? No DOTS!

    I remember most of my dreams, or I should say at least one a night because I think I read that the mind dreams the entire time asleep. But I don’t remember them after a day or so especially if I do not feel as if it is something I need to work out or if it was a dream that I feel as if I did work out, for example, the dreams that I have because I know I have not gotten a deadline off my back, those are the worse, including the most benign deadlines.

  6. Chris permalink
    November 4, 2007 10:20 pm

    I don’t understand….how does holding someone’s hair help their stomach feel better? ha ha

    That is one heck of a dream! It reminds me of those dreams of trying to walk against a strong wind or running from something in very soft, deep sand. I’m tired just from reading it.

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