Monday, May 7, 2012

A Madaleine deficiency and consequences

Sooooooo... I think I had one of those moments. An EXISTENTIAL moment. Yes, the kind that Proust had while munching on a Madeleine cookie. Apparently his momma was not like my momma... I guess the fact that my momma is way to lazy to make Madeleines makes it an "unofficial" existential moment, but it was a moment just the same. [Glaring at that lazy woman who thinks that she has no duty to bake until his honor daddy pants makes it home...spell it out... L A Z Y. My momma is lazy.  Momma Proust was NOT lazy, 'nuff said. And now momma has the nerve to ask me "What?" as I glare at her...]
in the good ole days...she baked this...

Back to my moment, unofficial as it was.

Buckle up. I have been polishing my creative writing skills for the Jersey Devil Press Novella Contest, so here it goes: [if you like cheese, you will love this new writing style!]

I was laying wedged between the cushions on one of the couches in momma's room. Belly up, my head turned toward the door, just lost in the post din din haze. My nose was still grooving on the lingering dinner aromas while a ray of the setting sun highlighted my curls and  Leonard Cohen's voice provided a mellow, comforting fading sound tract. It was all so cozy and relaxing. Had I been a cat I would have been purring. I was contemplating how lucky my family was to have found me. Really, I am perfect Perfect [yes, capitol P Perfect] and JD and The Wendy really lucked out. I give them a raison d'etre. I am la crema in their corto, the butter on their bread, etc, etc... you get the idea. And as I was contemplating their good fortune and slipping in the preambles of a deep dream filled slumber, I engaged in free association.  Fleeting thoughts, fleeting images, like free floating butterflies... all beautiful ... colorful, and then suddenly, one thought became the bee that stung me awake.

It played out something like this: His honor daddy pants, cookies, Madaleines, yum, JD, Adam, The Wendy, diet, itch, ohhhh Leonard Cohen you growl so well..., momma the LAZY, curly hair, me, Dowi, Silvie, moi, Silvie, momma, momma Silvie, roast beast, medium rare mhhh what the hey....back up, OPEN EYES...pause... head shake...Silvie me, Silvie momma, momma is Silvie too? She stole my name? I found myself flipping over, staring at momma.  I was trying to process what I had just realized. She stole MY name.  Momma stole my name! Wait...if she stole my name, what was she called before I came along? Dirty little name thief? I was dumbfounded by the realization that momma has the same name as me. I never put it together before.  And you know what? In truth, that realization was only the first step in a long steep staircase descending from my illusion to my delusion. My momma is a name thief.

Deep breath. How did momma steal my name? Wait. Momma is old. She is way older than seven. I am younger than that. So, that means...she stole my name before I was born! Talk about the perfect crime. Even easier than stealing candy from a baby, How did she do it? And why, why did she do it?

I sat there dazed, it was dark now, just like my mood. Mr. Leonard Cohen was quiet and the loudest noise came from inside my head. It was my head voice screaming "She stole my name, she has no shame." Such a terrible thing to do, to steal a name. What was she thinking? We even have the same last name! OMD, do you think that momma was stealing my identity? Did she do it for my credit history? Should I be reporting this to somebody? I was feeling crushed and emotionally stripped when my eyes floated to the dresser where my adoption announcement is framed .


Ohhhh...You know what? Maybe, she really did not steal my name. I am Silvieon4, she is plain old Silvie. She could never be me.  Even if she could grow a tail and fab curly hair... she could never be me.That realization was my existential moment.  And for records, I have since learned that momma did NOT name me. Auntie Robin and uncle Jack did.  Interesting... I will have to explore that, some day. For now, I am  'sausted from the whole ordeal. Frankly I blame the whole ordeal on momma's laziness. I think that the Madeleine deficiency caused my anxiety and left me all discombobulated. Momma should own up to the problems she caused and she should get crackalakin and bake already.

Phew. The one, the only ... me!
Bonne renommée vaut mieux que ceinture dorée

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