I was a leach, it sucked.

     Ms. River sends me a text, letting me know Robin Williams has passed away.
I tell her I know.
I just found out about the news a few minutes before River sends me the text.
The news is heartbreaking and it saddens me.
What I feel like saying is everything and nothing.
Nothing because I'm speechless.
Everything because he's done so much, affected so many people.
Ironically, there's even a tie between Robin Williams, Ms. River and myself.
The writer's group we started, were River and I came together was started with the phrase,
"Oh captain my captain..." The well known phrase from The Dead Poets Society.

Robin Williams
July, 1951-August, 2014



     What I am right now is a leach.

     Where I am right now,is on a couch, in Ms. River's living room.
Sitting directly across from me, is The Professor. We call him this on account that he teaches at the College of Southern Nevada, and is in fact, an actual professor.
River and I refer to him simply as "prof".
"What are you aware of?" Prof wants to know.
"I'm aware of the dirt on my stomach." I say "I feel afraid for my life." I say
Prof moves forward, to the edge of his seat and says, "If you could talk right now, what would you say?"
I close my eyes and get back into character. "I'm just a damsel in distress." I say
Opening my eyes, I look around the room. River sits on the floor, to my left and laughs.
When I speak my voice is high. I do my best to mimic a female leach, in distress.
What we're doing is called a "Dream Workshop."
This is the forth Sunday the three of us have gotten together, to talk about a dream, something with an Anima or Animus.
Something with significance.
With emotional reaction.
Something with Curiosity.
The professor, he wants to know if I'm aware I might die soon, if I'm aware there are a large group of ants, just around the corner, waiting to smother and kill me.
"Yes," I say "I don't know how, but I do know my life as a leach is in danger."

Inside the oven, sits a whole chicken. 
Around the whole chicken sits whole potatoes and chopped up carrots. All of these sit inside a large baking pot, baking at 400 degrees.
I grab a towel from the laundry room next door, and pull out the pot, setting it on top of the oven.
The digital clock above the stove reads 12:45. The professor should be here in fifteen minutes. I take a kitchen knife, and cut a slit into the breast of the chicken. The meat looks white and moist. I take a fork and check a potato. It feels firm in the middle. Needing another twenty minutes or so, I place the pot back into the oven, and wipe down the counters.
What I'm doing is getting lunch ready.
This is the forth Sunday the three of us will meet. To talk about dreams and feelings and what we're aware of's.
This is the forth Sunday we'll eat lunch to break the ice. The warm up before the workout.
I fold blankets over the couch, and toss little pieces of trash inside a plastic Walmart bag.
These pieces of trash by the way, River calls them my "Scruff Crumbs".
So I find myself picking up little pieces of Scruff Crumbs, pieces consisting of Jolly Rancher wrappers and the cellophane from cigarette packs, when River walks through the door.
She wants to know how the chicken is. I tell her it's not done yet, and tie the handles from the plastic Walmart bag in a knot. 
The digital clock on the microwave reads 1:02 when the professor knocks on the door. 
I say hello as I pass him in the doorway. Throwing the garbage in the dumpster, I stop and say hello to the maintenance man responsible for the apartment. His look tells me he doesn't recognize me, but he say's hello anyway. 
Back inside the apartment, River and the professor are standing in the kitchen, eating a plate of chicken and potatoes. 
Not having eaten anything all day, I pull a drumstick off the whole chicken and load up on potatoes. 
For the next ten minutes we stand and eat and talk about Carl Jung and Freud. 
Prof tells us that he once read, Freud had made a pass on Jung's wife. This is only after he tells us he had a dream about having an affair with Jung's wife. 
After a quick cigarette, River and I sit down on the couch, while The Professor takes a seat in his usual chair, directly across from us. 
"So who's going first?" Profs asks. 
River looks over at me. 
She gives me that look that says,
"You've got a good dream."
She gives me that look that says,
"You're going first."
She gives me that look that says,
"Don't be a fucking pussy." 
"I guess I'll go first." I say. 
I intertwine my fingers and push out my palms, popping my knuckles. 
Taking a deep breath, I tell The Professor all about my dream. 
What I am is a butterfly. 
I flap my wings and float around the ceiling of a hotel room. 
Prof wants to know what I'm aware of. 
"I'm aware of freedom." I say. "I'm aware of the air underneath my wings and around me." 
What I am now is a bird, sitting in a nest, hanging from the same ceiling in the corner of the hotel room. 
What I'm aware of is tranquility. Sitting in my nest, looking down at everything else, I feel as if everything's going to be alright. As if nothing bad can happen while I'm up here, in my safe haven. 
Next I'm a bug, slowly crawling over the carpet. 
I'm laid back taking my time with everything. 
Then I'm a Hillbilly, outside of a rest stop, making fun a leach, crawling in the dirt. 
I feel slow and dumb and slightly racist. 
Now I'm myself. Walking alongside a leach. Where I am right now is outside of a rest stop, walking on a dirt trail, trying to escort a leach back to the same hotel where I was a bird and a bug and a butterfly. 
Prof leans over in his chair, looks at me and asks, "Are there any of these characters that stand out to you?" He says "Anyone in particular you want to focus on?"
I tell him not that I can think of. 
The prof thinks for a minute. "I'd like to focus on the leach." He says "I think there's something there." 

What I am right now is a leach. 
I'm aware of the dirt against my stomach as I slither around a dirt trail, trying to move forward. 
I hold my arms to my side and move my torso in a S, trying to mimick this same slithering motion. 
This leach, it feels like royalty. It feels like a princess, like it's important that it stays alive, makes it back to her safe haven. 
Where I am right now is slithering around the corner of a dirt trail, spotting a group of ants, waiting to smother and kill me. 
What I feel is anxiety. 
"Now..." The prof says "Tell me how you would respond as the ants begin to attack you." 
I tell him I would respond with something like, "Help me..." I say "Maybe please help me." 
I place my hands on my knees and lean forward. 
"Maybe get the fuck off me." 
"Now, let's go back to you, being you." Prof says. "How do you feel." 
"I feel sad." I say. "Like there's nothing I can do." 
I tell him I try to brush the ants off the leach but more ants continue to come. I tell prof that it's useless. Nothing's working and I can hear the leach die. I tell him the leach's voice slowly fades out and it dies. 
This is the forth Sunday we meet and talk about our dreams. 
We sit with the prof and talk about leaches and dirt trails and safe havens. 
We eat chicken and potatoes and talk about sleeping with Carl Jung's wife and smoke cigarettes. 
We do this on Sundays at 1:00 in the afternoon and I absolutely love it. 
I look over to my left, at Ms. River and say, "You're next."
"Nope." She says.