Late Fragment.

Dream Weaver.

Last night, I dreamed that Inspector proposed to me at a reunion of our high school's drama club.  The ring he presented me with was made of pieces of expensive watches.  I could read EBEL on some part of it.

Besides the fact that there would probably not be a reunion of only our school's drama club, and besides the fact that Inspector and I would probably not go, and besides the fact that I am pretty sure there are no rings made out of pieces of watches, parts of this dream actually make sense to me.

Inspector and I first met while involved in our school's drama club.   The vast majority of our friendly interactions in high school took place there.  Many of my high school memories involve me and Inspector, climbing around the catwalks, goofing around in the dressing rooms, spending countless hours in the club's advisor's classroom  (sometimes even masticating).  So that the dream should put us there, back in the place where we first came to know each other, well... that makes sense.

And Inspector and I, we've been talking about getting married.  (Duh.)  So that the dream should involve a proposal isn't even all that weird.

This is the second time (although the last one was a long time ago) that I've dreamed that Inspector gave me a ring made of weird and even inappropriate material.  What do you think that's all about?  I don't really think he will.  In fact, I have some evidence that he won't.  And honestly, I don't care so much about the ring.  I mean, it's nice and all... and hey, I won't lie... I want one.  But I'd take a cigar band.  Really, I would.

I Woke And You Were Missing.

"Answering the door to trick-or-treaters in all her hairless chemo glory, my mother has inspired me more than she could ever imagine."

from One Sentence.

Reading this this morning made me think of the Halloween back in 1998, doing the exact same thing with my best friend.  We were at her house, we were in our pajamas, and every time the doorbell rang, she'd answer it and then rip off her wig.  We laughed and laughed.  We laughed until we cried.

So why does thinking about it now only make me want to cry?

In Candy's Room.

At about 2 this morning, my daughter climbed into my bed, claiming she’d had a bad dream. She curled up onto me, and whispered, “Mama, I’m cold.” 

I rolled over onto my back and held her against my chest. I petted her back, I played with her hair, I murmured and kissed into her forehead. I said, “You cannot know how much I love you.”

And she said, “How much, Mama?”

I said, “I love you as deep as the ocean,” and she gasped, as if she had never imagined such depths of love.

“I love you to the stars,” and she gasped again.

“I love you all the way around the world, more than three times,” and again, she gasped.

And then, I fell back on that old standard, “I love you to the moon and back,” and she replied, “Mama, I already know that.”

A moment passed and she said, “Thank you, Mama.”

I said, “Thank you for being the best kid I’ve ever known.” She thought about that for a minute.

“You’re welcome, Mama,” she breathed.

Any Soul Can Sleep.

I just got out of bed.  It is 12:04.  I am officially the laziest person in America today.

I knew I was tired, but I had no idea I was this tired.  Maybe now my right eye will stop twitching.

I wanted to clean out the little one's playroom today, but I just walked by it and the sight of it rendered me completely unmotivated.  There is also a pedicure in my future.

Can you guess which one is mine?

How Bizarre.

Last night, I dreamed that Inspector and I were at a restaurant when we realized we were sitting at a table next to one of my dearest friends from high school and the girl from my high school he dated some time before he dated me.  When he told her we were seeing each other, she allegedly told him I was "dirty".  I am.  In a good way.  Stupid pie-faced bitch.  Anyway.

In the dream, he kept craning past me to look at them, and kept asking me if it was her, and did I notice that her watch had been broken and that she was wearing it with a different band?  And I kept telling him that yes, it was her, why didn't he talk to her, and I had no idea whether or not her watch was broken or not because I did not remember what her watch ever looked like. 

Then she stood up and came over to our table and stood imperiously in front of it and said in her blue-blooded, Philadelphian accent, "Oh, Inspector, it is you" without so much as a glance at me, and he stood and stammered and talked to her for a while, and when he finally turned to me (who had, for some reason, curled up like a cat on the banquette we were seated on and started to fall asleep) and said, "Oh hey, I'm here with Bn'B too" she looked at me and dismissed me with a nod of her head.

That's not the weird part though.

After that, he shoved the table back and dropped to his knees in front of me, taking both of my hands in his.  It seemed he thought I was upset, though I wasn't.  And then, on his knees he started to talk really fast, stuff that didn't really make sense until he said "and I've got this ring..." and with that, there was the requisite ring box.

Except that the ring in question was made of small, drinking-straw sized PVC pipe and rubber bands.  And neither one of us could figure out how it was supposed to be worn.

That's weird.

Remembering Distant Memories.

I had this dream last night, and I know it's the high point of blogger-silliness to believe that anybody but me cares about my dreams, but this dream was so real and so disturbing that I have to write it down, if for no other reason than I hope it'll purge it for me.

I dreamed it was dark, nighttime, and for some reason I think it was New Year's Eve.  I was in a bathroom, one I do not own or recognize.  It was one of those old-fashioned ones, with black and white tiles on the floor and a free-standing porcelain bathtub. 

I was in that bathroom with my ex-husband when lightning flashed and I saw, silhouetted in the window, Pixie, my beloved and dead-almost-six-months dog.

I climbed out the window after her, onto a wet ledge, and she lowered herself over it onto the next roof ledge below, where she laid herself, on her back, in that sort of Christ-on-the-cross pose.  You know, with her arms out to the sides.  And then, lying there on her back with her arms out to the sides, she began to wail and keen and moan.  And I clambered down that roof ledge and sat next to her and pulled her up onto my lap, all the while crying and holding her and whispering frantically, "I'm sorry, Pixie... I am so sorry."

And my ex, from out the window, called "What's wrong with her?  Should I call the vet?"

I, infuriated with him one more time, hollered back, "For fuck's sake, YES!

Then, in my dream, my point of view changed, so that it was like a camera, doing an overhead shot, and the camera panned back to show me hunched over Pixie, crying and heaving and sobbing while the rain danced in little puddles around me.  And it was quite clear that Pixie had stopped keening and moaning, and that I was now the only one still making a sound.

I woke up.

I had this strange feeling that Pixie was trying to tell me something.  And, no, not in a Timmy's-in-the-well kind of way.  I got out of bed.  I checked around the house.  I peeked in on my kid, sleeping peacefully.  And I went back to bed.

I don't know what she was trying to tell me.  I never knew I'd miss a dog as much as I miss her.  Her birthday would've been two weeks from today.