I dream of falling

I’ve been meaning to write to you about my dreams.

Sometimes, I struggle to distinguish between the memories of my dreams and memories of real life. My memory of hiding in fear from a monster is as true as my memory of sitting in the sun and eating an apple. My memory of dropping into sudden darkness while playing with my friends feels as real as the last Wednesday we went to the library together. My memory of sitting and speaking with Grandad is as real as my memories of sitting and speaking with Grandad. I know what did and didn’t happen to me, but they are all now the same thing in my brain: memories.

Unfortunately, I dream a lot. At times, it feels as though sleep is more emotionally exhausting than my day-to-day life. In fact, when I get in a real sleep rut, the thought of going to bed to face my subconscious is quite anxiety-inducing; the rut deepens. 

Growing up, I had a lot of nightmares in which I felt incredibly fearful. But an interesting change I’ve noticed now that I am big is that these nightmares have shifted from inducing real fear to inducing real grief. 

It makes sense, as you grow, the things you are afraid of change. I no longer have nightmares every night about the lion from the Teletubbies. Instead, I have dreams where someone I love dies. They’re not dramatic or absurd dreams. They’re quiet, just you and me. You’re dying, I’m grieving. Then I wake and go about my day.

I had this recurring dream that my brain loved to put me through as a child: a dream of falling. I could be anywhere, when suddenly the world tilts and morphs, and I fall. I have these dreams still. Sometimes I’m with friends, and I follow them as we enter a room, only for the space to lead to a dark and endless pit. Sometimes you’re there too. Sometimes my brain combines fear and grief. We’re falling together, we’re falling apart, I’m never going to see you again.

I wanted to write to you because I don’t know what to do, and I’m scared. I know I’m not falling, and I know you’re not dead. But on some days, I carry recollections of your death. I carry the knot in my throat from screaming your name. I carry the grief of life without you. 

It never happened. I know. 

my city smells like a Portaloo

I get my power from Mercury™, one of the three power companies that the New Zealand Government holds a 51% majority stake in. In the past six months, Mercury has increased the cost of our power three times. We now pay over double what we did in October. I think this is awesome, and I find it especially cool that this Government has just announced moves that seek to increase the cost of our power further, while in doing so shortening the time we are able to live on this planet. I think this is really awesome and cool.

Because it costs so much to live, I am trying to use the air conditioning less. Because I am using the air conditioning less, I leave my windows open in the evening to cool my bedroom. Because I leave my window open, on multiple nights this past few weeks, my bedroom has smelled like poo. This is because in 2021, a fire at the not-so-nearby oxidation ponds caused damage that is expected to be repaired by 2028. Seven years, a reasonable timeline to stop the entire east side of a city of 400,000 people smelling like a tipped-over Portaloo.

Now, I am no expert on oxidation ponds. The Christchurch City Council gives regular updates as to the status of the issue. I can do nothing but trust their process. It seems like they are onto it. 

But of course, they might not be onto it. One of the funniest lessons I learned about growing up is that everyone is actually just a little bit stupid. This is something I have written about on okayjame before. No one really knows what they are doing all the time. We have our moments, sure. But for the most part, every organisation has its issues, its inefficiencies, its workers who don’t care and its workers who care too much. It wouldn’t be a surprise to discover that the management of the wastewater treatment plant was and is in shambles, and I wouldn’t blame anyone who works there for throwing in the towel early on a Friday instead of trying to fix the issues. We’re all tired, right? 

Anyway, I just wanted to pop in to say I’m upset with the smell. I’d like the City Council to do more. I feel like seven years to fix the issue is a bit absurd. But what do I know?

I dream of falling pt. two 

Parakiore Recreation and Sport Centre finally opened in December. After seven years of on-and-off construction, blown-out budgets, and sections of the building sinking back to whence it came, the people of Christchurch finally have a new sports centre and pool to call our own. I can only imagine the relief the Christchurch City Council feels to have completed a project.

I visited the other day with my friends. It was lovely. We were there for the slides. We slid, we slided, we slode. I zoomed down the body slides and flopped down the tube slide, but the real reason to go is to face the trapdoor. If you’re not familiar with the Parakiore trapdoor slide, it is a slide where you’re locked into a tube, and you fall. Hope that helps. 

It’s safe to say I was terrified to step foot into the trapdoor death trap. My fear wasn’t helped by the order of entry, as my six friends lined up ahead of me, leaving me the last standing. I watched as they were each locked in, arms crossed as if they were to be dropped directly into their coffins. One by one, they dropped, my heart sinking deeper into my body with each loss.

Everything inside of me wanted to escape as I stepped into the contraption. But the potential shame of walking back down the stairs, passing the five-year-olds running back for their tenth drop, was too much to bear. I clenched the last of my courage as the voice began its countdown. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

There is a half-second where the floor drops from beneath you that feels like an eternity. At that moment, I lived in a world where the part of my brain that separates dreams from reality switched off. The worlds that I know exist on separate planes were conjoined. I was, in a sense, living my nightmare.

The nightmare quickly became the least of my worries, and I was confronted with what can only be described as the world’s most intense bidet. It’s impossible to take in the world whizzing past as you twist and turn at a gazillion kilometres an hour, give or take. I crashed to the end and scooped the water out from my eyes to find my friends alive and well. Not only that, I found myself alive and well. 

In fact, I felt so alive, I fell twice more. It is quite a special experience and something that is awesome to have in the city. It’s the closest any of us will ever come to living like Wile E. Coyote. 

But man, I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel off for the rest of the day, 

In fact, things have been weird in the weeks since. 

I’ve struggled to distinguish between the memories of my dreams and memories of real life.

And my sleep has been awful.

I blame the City Council.