To dream the impossible dream

What a difference a day makes, eh. Yesterday was A Good Day. Optimism, thankfulness, all that wonderful stuff. A trip is planned for next week, with #2 staying here with #4, making sure school happens, all that. I am trusting them. Nervous a little, especially last night for some reason. It’s the “getting up and getting to school on time” issue mainly. Oh well, you have to trust them some time, right? At 16 I was able to do that, and I didn’t have an autocratic older brother to help.

Last night was full of those dreams-within-dreams. You know the kind, where you’re dreaming and you wake up then something really weird happens and you realize you’re still dreaming. 3 times this happened, all in the same dream. First, I dreamed Himself was dead, then I woke up and was incredibly happy it was a dream, then I realized we were in the wrong house, and it was a dream. Oh well. Carry on. Then I woke up again, Wow! It was a dream he was dead because there he is fixing breakfast! Except he was wearing these weird pajamas that didn’t fit and I knew he didn’t have any like that. Oh well, carry on. Normal dreamy stuff ensued….ok fine…Wake up…WOW! There he is! All this, it really was just a dream and he’s right there next to me in the bed, the right house, the right bedspread, I am wearing the pajamas I actually put on last night OH WOW I AM NOT EVEN MAD AT HIM FOR THE LAST 10 WEEKS OF EVERYTHING BEcaus….crap. It’s a dream.

Dear Brain,  you suck.

I woke up from that, waiting to see if it was a dream or real, and the dog started barking her “let me outIgottapee!” bark and now I feel completely deflated. This was better than Christmas and a trip to Six Flags and walking away from the preacher holding Himself’s hand the day we got married and every good thing….for a few moments this morning I was so incredibly joyful because it really was JUST A DREAM all this mess of the last 10 weeks. except that the 10 weeks wasn’t the dream.

The reality is, he is gone. There is grit on the floor because I haven’t swept in a while. 7am is as late as I get in the morning because the dog has to pee and if I want breakfast on the weekend I have to fix it myself. There isn’t a warm Himself laying next to me anymore. Reality is the bowl of yogurt and granola right over there because that’s all the ambition there is for breakfast. It’s the wanting to walk away from all of this, packing up a couple of changes of clothes for #4 and myself, and simply going away.

I know, running away from something doesn’t solve anything. The easy way out is almost never the way to handle it. I can’t run away from my brain, not legally anyway, and the side effects of doing that chemically are ill-advised.

So, I am going to suck it up and try to forget last night’s roller coaster. The floor will get swept and the lawn mowed and supper planned. Smiles will be forced until they feel normal (as if…what does “normal” even feel like anymore?). #4 is having a friend over later and they can disappear into the virtual world of whatever it is 16 year olds play these days.

Who is that mythological character that had to drag the rock up the mountain every day, just for it to roll back down every night? Sisyphus? Or was that the guy who had his liver eaten every day, and it grew back every night? That’s kind of how it feels…rest at night, with the potential escape of dreams, then you wake up in the morning and there it is again…the rock and the mountain…or the bird that eats your liver…

I can see how stuff like this drives people to drink or drugs. I am not going there, as the side effects of such are more than I want to fool with, plus there are offspring who need a good example of How To Deal. Not to mention all those people around here who keep saying things like “I don’t know how you do it!” and “You’re so strong!” and such.  I am not. I am weak and terrified and frustrated and want to dump the whole thing and move to Kansas and get a job as a Waffle House Waitress and live in a tiny efficiency apartment and name myself Kate. But then there would be no one to let the dogs out at 7 am, and there is a 16 year old who just lost his father and to lose his mother as well would be grossly unfair. My hyper developed sense of responsibility (Agnes McCalvinox) will not allow that.


About rootietoot

I do what I can.
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2 Responses to To dream the impossible dream

  1. jerseechik says:


  2. Judy says:

    After Fred died, a couple of months later, my best friend took my hand, hugged me and said, “This all just really sucks!” She was right–it all just does.

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