16 November 2007

This must be God's way of telling me to get a life

This is the recurring dream I've been having for the past couple weeks:

It must be the weekend, because I'm having lunch with Gabriel. Gabriel is sitting properly at the table, eating all of his food. Then it's nap time, and Gabriel settles down for his nap with absolutely no fight. Just lets me tuck him in and falls asleep. The house is a disaster, and there's a sink full of dishes, but I also haven't showered for at least two days, and the idea of a shower by myself is too tempting.
So I get in the shower, which is magically spotless, and is one of those big tiled showers with frosty glass doors, and a frosted window to the outside and it's all sunny and perfect and there are plants. And the shower head is the right height and dispersing the right amount of water at the right pressure and temperature. I take the world's longest shower, and I actually shave and wash my hair, and just stand there and let the water run over me, which is heavenly, but I feel sort of guilty because the longer I'm in the shower, the less time I'll have to get other stuff done. I get out of the shower, and my bathroom is spotless. No chonies on the floor, no clutter on the counters, Gabriel's toys have vanished, I don't get my hair on my feet when I step on the bath mat. I dry off, lotion, brush my hair, etc., and put on my watch.
Magically, only ten minutes have gone by, which means I still have time to clean and pick up and put my kitchen in order, and this makes me feel happy, because I love for my house to be nice. Except. My house? Spotless. The carpets are clean, the kitchen floor is shining, the dishes are all clean and away. I don't know how I know, but I now realize that my plants are watered, my bills are payed, my checkbook balanced. All of the laundry is clean and away. There are literally no chores to do.
I get a book to read, and there is already a cup of tea on the table, I don't have to make any. It's the perfect warmth for drinking and not burning my tongue. And then I notice that there is also a big bouquet of lilies on the table, in my red pitcher. And right there. At that exact moment, I sigh and think, oh this is just a dream. And I wake up.
The perfect shower, the magically clean house, the perfectness of being alone and truly having nothing to do, no guilt over what I'm not doing, all of those simple things that I long for I can accept as true. I embrace them.
But even my dreaming subconscious simply cannot believe that I would have flowers on my table, because people don't buy me flowers. I can honestly count the times I've gotten flowers on one hand. And twice it was because the person who had bought them had severely, severely fucked up my life, and the flowers didn't help.
This is not a cry for help. I'm perfectly happy without flowers. I don't cry myself to sleep at night because no one wasted their money on me. I just think it's sort of sad that even when I'm dreaming good dreams, I don't buy it. And that is a wonderful dream that I love having, and I'm so glad I've had it more than once because it's gotten better every time, but it makes me sad for two reasons.
1. I wake up and it's not true.
2. The most glorious thing my imagination can come up with is an afternoon alone in a clean apartment with no chores? Well that really makes me feel sort of boring and sad.

1 comment:

  1. it's actually sort of charming... you're just a realist :)

    people love you, jenny.

    ReplyDelete

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