The Creative Bone

Waking up in a coma was mind blowing. I saw and felt and participated with all the interactions people had with me although they did not know it. It puzzles me to hear and smell so many familiar smells. As opposed to the sterile ones of the hospital. Sometimes in this state I wake up. I try to get up and hug my wife who visits me daily. The worst thing is not being able to move or show any emotion.

Who knew I was awake on a Harley. My leather pants were smothering my goods. I was gonna need to get off this machine and air them out soon. Heard it was bad for the boys to get em too hot. They might explode or something. I signal the gang that I was gonna need a break soon. Everyone was cool except for Beatrice. She had some strange need to go as long and fast as we could. It was as if she was afraid to slow down. She might actually have to speak or act like a human being.

My youngest son never wants to get outta bed and often causes me to want to pull the hair outta my head. I mean “Yeah, it sucks to get outta a warm bed and get your costume on and join the world.” I gotta do it, his dad has to do it, his sister has to do it but he is impossible. “Get your butt outa bed, Toocha.” I told his father we should come up with another name but somehow Toocha just stuck. Finally I just decided that was it, I had had it. I took off my shoes, and the dark brown leather strap holding up my uniform pants.

I feel like I should be creative and yet normal and boring are all that’s coming outta my mouth. Its like I do not have a creative bone in my body. Where does that even come from. A creative bone. I had my creative bone removed when I was three years old. It was a natural phenomena, that all parents did at that time. Rumor had it that if you left a child’s creative bone in tact, it would go in sane. It would not fit in. It would basically be a disrupter and nobody wants a disrupter. Especially when it is easier to just do what you are suppose to do.

Being in a coma is a lot like not being in a coma for me. I think if I decide to wake up I will participate more. I will try to say my feelings, good or bad. It has always been hard to say the words that I think people don’t wanna hear. But listening to people talk when they dont know you are listening makes them more honest. They basically say they wish you could tell them how you feel coma or no coma. I think if I were to wake up, I might miss this honesty. Anyway I hope to speak more of my truth if I wake up from this dream.

Funny thing about Beatrice, she was a super sweet person on the inside. Although I had no actual idea, I just had a feeling. It was gonna take years to figure out as her fence was high and strong. I found myself wanting to protect her, even though she could beat the shit outta me with one hand tied behind her back. It wasn’t so much that she was a woman as nobody ever used a pronoun to describe her except in my head. I mean I guess I called her her in my head because of her name. It seemed like a female name and there was a softness about her eyes when sitting by a fire that seemed feminine. Maybe it was just fun to ponder on.

I looked Toocha deep in the eyes with a serious expression. I picked up the phone, Dailed the number and in a sickly voice said ” Hello, Could you tell mister Sailor I am sick and cannot come into work today.” After I put down the phone, I jumped on Toocha”s bed and said “Move over, son. It’s a mental health day!” Soon my 16 year old daughter and husband came in the room and yelled “it’s mental health day” and jumped in toocha’s bed with us. It was a wonderful gift that Toocha was never willing to do what he was suppose to do, as it often created wonderful experiences, even though I am now bald. Hair is over rated.

Yesterday my parents sat me down in the living room. I thought “oh shit, did they find out I stole their beer.” They were looking all serious and I was just about to confess when my dad started crying. I realized it probably wasn’t the beer, so I just sat and waited. it seemed like hours of them humming and hawing. Saying they were not sure if they should tell me but that I might need to move to another star ship. That they did not get the creative bone in my body removed and now it was way too big. I would have to live with my creative bone in tact. My father just kept saying he loved musicians, and artists and he could not have mine removed. I thought no wonder I stole that beer..

Who knows what this is or where it is going? Will they meet up. Will they be the last ones left in a zombie apocalypse. Or is this it…. Your guess is as good as mine. Peace out my lovely readers! I enjoy reading your comments. I am going to figure out how to discern who is a person and who is a bot soonish. So I can post the comments and you can see them. Plus I might gift a print to the most insightful comment. More to come in da future… Thank you!

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