bitterdiva

Sweet Dreams

When I was younger I don't quite remember my parents or siblings reading me bedtime stories. I know my mother had, she always read to us children. I believe that's why my brother is as good of a reader as he is, constant interaction with books. My sister is the same way, she loves reading albeit not the same genre as my brother or as myself, but that's individuality. I am certain that my mother read to me, I could see myself curled up in my bed all tucked in with my eyes closed listening to the words in the voice of my mother. If it's one thing I cherish the most it's my mother's voice. Most people will say that when they're frightened they wish for their mother's presence or simply the sound of her voice. I call my mother when I am in hysterics and sure enough she knows how to calm me.

Now that I'm older I find that right before I go to bed I watch a movie. Typically it's Harry Potter positioned the scene before Snape's first speaking appearance. The sound of his voice soothes me. Now I have something a bit better. John and Meredith gave me Gaiman's Coraline on CD read by the man himself. Last night I listened to the last CD of the three CD set. And although it sounded like he was reading to his youngest daughter I found serenity in his voice. He may say his accent's been a bit shoddy since moving here 10 years ago, but it clearly retains its foreign dialect.

It was by listening to the first two CD's that I accomplished something that has taken me at least 3 months to do, clean my bedroom. Granted, it still is messy but I have put the bulk of my clothes on the appropriate hanger and finessed them to be happy hanging off the bar in my small, dark, MacIntosh-smelling closet.

I had some surreal dreams last night, this morning however I can't remember what they were.

01:01 PM

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