Normally I don’t care much about New Years Eve–to me the new year is an individual phenomenon that begins for each person on their birthday–but 2014 was such a trying year on so many levels that I welcome any opportunity, however symbolic, to put the hardship behind us. Here’s to a year of expansion, kindness, clarity, communion, amazing adventures, and, yes, governmental and personal accountability. Not the sexiest resolution but, oh, so necessary. It’s time for us all to grow up. The good news is we’re ready.
My permakitten Gracie pads through all my dreams lately. At this point we’re so close–we’ve been with each other through illness and poverty and loneliness and heartbreak—that my central nervous system automatically calms whenever I feel the pressure of her tiny warm body. I’ve taken her with me on trips upstate and to the sea. It only makes sense that she accompany me to the other side as well.
The night before last, I dreamed that she was a tiny purple sea horse—an animated one who leapt off a smart phone screen to swim next to me everywhere I went. Everyone could see her but no one knew what to do with the vision. Then the phone got scrambled—it was just a wave of pastels rolling on the screen—and I couldn’t find her anywhere. To make matters worse, I was on a train, which disappeared once I stepped off briefly to find better cell reception. I couldn’t retrieve my bags, couldn’t even find the train. Naturally I discovered I was on my ex’s property, and so had to take pains to avoid him as I searched for my life’s possessions as well as dear Grace. I realized I had nothing of my own.
It was a desecration of what had been a lovely dream.
Last night I dreamed Grace and I were at a house party—a mansion party, really, but as the awkward evening unspooled, it became clear it was really a funeral. These very wealthy people didn’t know how to navigate death (something they couldn’t control) so they’d acted like the occasion for convening was an ordinary party rather than the death of a friend.
I was cynical but nonetheless present. Grace was exploring the many halls, skidding down endless, shiny wood floors. I encountered a staircase that (naturally) didn’t extend all the way from the mezzanine to the first floor. I cracked some jokes about it—a bunch of us (including another ex) were descending the stairs together in order to attend what had suddenly been announced as a memorial service—and everyone laughed. I felt gratified and mean (not an unfamiliar feeling for me). Continue Reading →
My knighthood is going to happen any day now, I can just feel it. But even it doesn’t, it’s really high time I became Sir Lisa Miriam Rosman. Seriously, in the same vein that “actor” has become a gender-inclusive term, I’d like to be referred to as “sir” moving forward. Both “ma’am” and “miss” are just terrible as formal terms of respect–either under or over the same hill (pun intended, obviously). And imagine the fun when some twentysomething male “ma’ams” me, and I, towering over him in heels and cleavage-bearing dress, bellow, That’s sir to you, sonny!