A Decision

There's a single lamppost lit outside on the street below my window.

He's been asleep for about an hour. He didn't hear me get up. Things are so uncertain now. I feel that at any moment that room may turn upside down or perhaps the floor may start to crumble or swivel around, like in my nightmares. But I remain right side up and on solid ground for now.

Last month, I was sick with a terrible fever. Alone, 10 stories above the so-called solid ground, the walls moved, the rugs swam around the floor and the sheets dripped onto the floor, I walked around my home, only to open my eyes to realize I was still in bed, all things stationary. I heard my grandmother call my name in the dark. In that second, jerked back to the present, lying in bed sweating and barely breathing, I was gripped by paralyzing fear. Not that my Granny was speaking to me across the gauze of another plane, but that I was truly alone up there.

Tonight, the lamp and the sleeping man, the one who I feel so much for, keeps the alone away. Though things may crumble beneath my feet, I know he will try to catch me and the single street lamp will light my way. And in this moment, where I stand naked in front of this window, soft breathing behind me, this blue room that I helped paint, I turn to him. My silhouette will keep him company as he dreams of blue skies he won't remember tomorrow. I know with more resolution than I have ever felt in my limited years that though I am followed, tracked by uncertainty and uneven ground, I am sure of this man. I am sure he is a good man, honest to a fault and that his love for me is true and layered. His love, his heart is something no other man has ever given me. No other man has meant more to me, loved me like he does and for this, I have given him my whole heart, my trust, my everything. He is it for me. Of this, I am certain.

I lay down next to him as the clock downstairs chimes 3am.

I fear that it will all be taken away from me so I drink in every happy moment, like this one. But then I relax, hold him close and allow the fear to siphon away, for now, and drift off to sleep, where I can dream of blue skies and us and wake up with those memories.

Come over to the dark side... we have cake.

Things are kind of bleak.

I'm in some kind of funk lately. My joblessness has affected me more than I thought it ever would. I'm stuck in daydreams and thoughts of running away from my current responsibilities and finding a life. Running away with the circus. Teaching surfing lesson to tourists on the south shore.

I just feel like my life was going so well. I bought my beautiful house, I met the man of my dreams, I was young and beautiful with a great job and a well mannered cat. And it all crumbled into the fire within months. (well, except my fella... he just keeps getting better and better)

I am overcome by feelings of hopelessness and despair at times. (Geez, I sound like one of those prescription commercials...) I know it's just a phase, a dark shadow that will be overrun by the sun soon enough. But still...

I need something, I just don't know what it is.

ps - The cake is a lie.

Corporate Daydream

I had a dream.

I daydream of being on a carousel, going round and round as the sunshine blinks at me. I’m all alone and the music is soft and old fashioned. I close my eyes and I wake up in a field. It’s warm and cotton floats in the air.

The wild flowers carpet the field that just goes on and on. I walk and walk. I come across fruit trees that turn into a forest. Nut trees, avocados, pineapple patches. The light grows dimmer and speckled on the forest flower and the air cools. I gather baskets full of almonds, oranges, vanilla beans, chocolate bars, bowls of noodles with chopsticks, and ice cream cones. The baskets are full but not heavy. The deer don’t mind me at all.

The forest ends and the sun is born again, warming my skin, keeping the tamales hot in the leather pouch they’re in. This new valley past the trees is surrounded by snow capped mountains miles out in either direction, creating a fortress, a castle that was all mine, no one could enter. As I continue to walk with my baskets between the giant arms of either range, I can see a thin pillar of smoke rising straight up into the calm blue sky. As I move closer, I see a stone stacked cabin with two smoke stacks and a small garden off to the right. I open the gate to the courtyard and put my baskets down on the front step. I almost knock on the door when I see a note tacked in front of the knocker. “Welcome. It’s yours. Take good care of us.” I enter slowly.

There is a large overstuffed sofa by the crackling fire place, where three large pillows are placed on the floor. There is a bookshelf full of books, new and old, and little curiosities tucked throughout. A record cabinet sets across from the fireplace, full of different music from jazz to pop. The kitchen is small and warm, a breeze moving through the window over the sink. I put my fruit and ice cream away in the ice box and take my leather pouch of tamales to the fire, take “Peter Pan” off the shelf and curl up on the pillows. The wind starts to grow colder and I close the windows and venture upstairs. There is a curtain in the single room to hide the soaking tub and changing area. The bed has two down comforters and six pillows. I light the fire in the room, turn the water on in the tub and lay my tired body into the steamy water that goes up to my neck. As I dry off and slip into my long white pajama gown, it begins to snow in the valley.

As I drift off, Peter flying in soft circles above the house keeping guard, I know that it’s possible that I won’t wake up here in the morning but that it was worth the risk.

Crazy.

I am crazy for you.

And I think you know what I mean. Not Joaquin Phoenix or Margo Kidder kind of crazy. More like the Marquis de Sade. No wait, bad example. Like Debra Carr. So happy, so incandescent in her joy that she can't help but burst into song, dancing, twirling around the living room with Yule Brena. But where does the music come from? How does everyone know the words? Maybe they're not even there, maybe there is no music...

So when we start dancing and singing and the little blue birds encircle us and the little furry woodland creatures shyly venture out of the forest to greet us, they will come in their crisp white coats and padded wagon to take us away. Together.

But don't cry for us, Argentina. The truth is we never left you. No wall can hold us back and our happiness is like sunshine through the cracks and falling parts. In our matching pajamas, hand in hand, we will skip down to the main gate, tossing over our shoulders the homemade sticks of dynamite we made during arts and crafts time in the sunshine room. The armed guards stead themselves for a fight. They are blinded by a cloud of carnage. Out flies a ninja star, a rubber chicken, a bumper to a 1974 Cheraco. Shooting from the chaos, a photon particle beam nearly misses your head. Grown men cry out for the mommies, running out to the horizon in nothing but their BVDs. Finally, with a war cry that would make a grown man wet his underoos, a Care Bear stare takes out the remaining, whiting out the landscape for a few moments with it's brilliant rainbow, strawberry scented light. The mushroom cloud clears and we emerge from the smoke and dust unblemished, stepping over the piles of unconscience men. And I'll kiss you and say, "I love you", as we ride off into the sunset.

So this is love....

You don't want to forget this.

The way you feel right now. The way that you can't wait to see him. The way you ache when you miss him. The way you just sit and think about how happy you are. Right now.

Never take these moments for granted. This beginning stage where everything is wonderful. You are Cinderella and he is Prince Charming. Little blue birds sew your ball gown and you sing to the mice and they sing right back. There is good and bad and black and white and you are glowing sunshine.

When he forgets your birthday, remember the first time he said he loved you. When he keeps doing that annoying thing you used to think was so cute, remember dancing in your living room to Nat King Cole on the record player while dinner burned in the kitchen. When you have your first knock down, drag out fight, remember that the first present he brought you was canvases so you could paint to your hearts desire.

Now some say that this right here isn't true love. "True love" is not getting divorce after he goes to Vegas with his friends on your anniversary. It's holding her hair back while she puking pepperoni pizza and beer. It's getting up at 4am to feed the baby, even though you have to go to work in 2 hours, so he can sleep a little bit longer. I agree fully, but this too is love.

This shiny, happy moment is gone before you know it. There is more to come, but just don't forget this. It can keep you through the lean times and move you through. Don't ever forget.