Sick again last night. So sick, terminal I think. And so was my husband, but he wasn't my husband. He was just the man I loved who was afraid to take the leap and marry me. Kissing him was bittersweet because even though I knew he loved me so much, I also knew he wouldn't marry me because he was afraid we would die. And we were going to. That was our prognosis.
I looked up at the clock on the wall and thought we were going to be so early going to the big building. We were supposed to be there at 8:30 a.m. so the kids could start school and we could start work. And the clock said 5:40, right? But no, it actually said 8:25. We were going to be late and it was our first day! The drive took at least an hour. So I willed it to be the big building right there and it was. Walking into the auditorium for orientation, I tried to find us seats in the way back where if the kids fidgeted it wouldn't be noticed. But it was packed, so very full of people.
Visiting my mom, so happy to be there, but I had packed horribly. I didn't even have any church clothes. What was I going to do? I searched her closet and found a dress that she'd once loaned me. Would it fit? But in the process of being in her closet I found a bag of books. And in that bag there were yearbooks, hers, mine, other people's. I began to thumb through one, enchanted by all the pictures, all the activities.
There was so much more in my dreams last night but this was all I could clearly remember. The other parts are just bits and pieces in my brain. Too bad, I would have liked to know if I died.
I hope not! I try to watch things right before bed to influence my dreams, but it never quite works out as I'd hoped. I either wake up vaguely traumatized or I dream of something else entirely. Actually, it's usually both.
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