Week 2

Last night I had a perplexing dream. I was in India, or somewhere in South East Asia, with my parents. But I wasn't me, you know? I wasn't Rosie, and my parents in this dream weren't my parents in real life. I can't remember if they (and thus I) were Asian, or if they were caucasian. Reviewing it in my mind's eye, my memory is telling me my father was Indian, but I also seem to remember my mother having swathes of floaty blonde hair. She was definitely a trophy wife, and she was wearing a sparkly formal dress. I had a little sister, too. She was a toddler, and I seem to remember she had dark hair.
We had a lot of money in this dream, and my father was showing us this new tower of condos he had built, and then (it gets very muddled in my head), his business partner killed him and was about to kill us,too. I remember running with my mother, who was so frightened, and taking my little sister's hand and then eventually lifting her up to carry her as I ran. But I don't remember her crying or looking frightened. And I seem to remember that, even though in this dream I was only 9 or 11 years old, I took control of the situation. My mother was frightened and crying, and we had to go on the elevator to my father's office. We both knew that his killer would be there and would shoot us, as soon as he saw us.
So when the doors slid open, we slid with them to the sides of the elevator car so we couldn't be seen. There was a hail of bullets, someone going nuts with a machine gun. But neither of us were touched, and then the dream started looping and replaying that part again and again. When I woke up it wasn't gasping and panting as though I'd had a nightmare; possibly because I felt in control the whole time, and I had a plan.
Thus dawns the second week of Lent.
And it's snowing, and occasionally I feel the urge to cry. Not sob or weep, per se, but just let a few tears dribble out from my eyes, and at the same time I feel emotionally blocked. If I want to cry, then why shouldn't I? Because I can't. Even as I type, I'm feeling that tightening of my eyes, as though the fluid is gathering to spill, I feel that heaviness in my chest, and a certain sensation of stagnation and defeat. But then nothing happens. No tears. It's almost like a UTI of the emotions, but I can't drink gobs of cranberry juice or take any antibiotics for this. I suppose I could watch a sad movie.
The problem is I have no idea why I feel this way. Mum will probably say it's because I'm not eating properly, but, and this is the honest truth: I have never felt healthier in my life. Except for the last time I fasted for Lent. I have been demolishing fruits and vegetables, whole grains, beans and legumes, consuming vast quantities of water. I still put sugar in my coffee (honey in my tea) because otherwise I wouldn't be able to drink it. I wake up feeling so rested (most of the time. A few nights ago a series of dreams as well as the freaking audio notification that a certain person's cell phone was about to die kept me tossing and turning). There was a day when the least healthy thing I ate was a bagel with peanut butter. True my stomach has been making ominous sounds, especially after the Friday fish fry. But I'm not feeling the need to snack anymore, or as much as I used to.
I really want some falafel. With root beer.