I lie in my bed for nearly two hours this time before giving up. Wonder if maybe the sleeping pill fell out before I thought I swallowed it. Think about all manner of things. Past hurts, and how I developed defense mechanisms to keep them from happening again. What to do with this summer, which seems like it’s almost over already between the kids spending so long at Grandma’s house (they say they don’t want to come home, and cry if I suggest it) and the fact that school starts the second week of August. Is there time to do all the things that kids need to do?
- piano lessons
- swimming lessons
- dance lessons
- gymnastics lessons
- finally getting around to using the rock tumbler
- going camping
- going to the lake
- going to the ranch and fishing and looking at fireflies and stars and the moon
- going to play on the school playground
- setting up a wading pool to splash in the backyard
- going to the San Antonio Zoo
- taking a picnic, or dining al fresco on the porch while we barbecue
- playdates at the park
- going to see a movie
There are so many things to do and so little time to do them. Is there time to take a week off for Bulletfest? I don’t know if I can stand being away from the girls for so long, so soon after this visit away. Hub claims that the night they come home, we will all sleep together in the big bed.
There’s so much grownup stuff to do, too. Bulletfest. ARGFest NYC. Looking at land. Contemplating a career. Each day I rush through so I can do something else – wasn’t that a poem somewhere? I have too much to do. I don’t have time to be sidetracked with unkind words. Friendly ones, yes; not hateful ones. Decided long ago that life is simply too damned short to be unhappy, so if something’s making me unhappy, it is my responsibility to myself to move on. I have used up my unhappiness quotient for this lifetime. I hope.
I don’t want to be worrying about test results. It leads to the inevitable “Better think about doing it now, just in case…” and the “just in case” is said (in my mind) barely above a whisper, as if it can hear what is said about it.
Last night I dreamt about land again. I have a recurring dream about the land that I own. Sometimes it looks like the ranch. Sometimes it looks like nothing I have seen, but it is still familiar to me. The soil is dark and loamy. There are hills and hollows in the riverbottom. If you take that road to the right, you’ll come to the stock tank just past the hill. The entrance is down a long dirt road; the front field clear from brush and full of green grass and an occasional flower. There’s a drive down the road where you admire the field for a while before you get to the gate. Once in a while there’s a tree hanging over the fence. Last night we were driving through a slough full of snakes. I was not scared of them, in my dream. I was happy to be on my land.
I wonder, is this property out there somewhere waiting for me, as I have been waiting for it in the past couple of years of my dreams? And what on earth am I going to do if I am ever confronted with the land of my subconscious? Would it be a good thing or a bad thing to see it? Does it mean I will live there or die there? While I’m there, will I dream about some other piece of land?
If I find it, I might name it Through the Looking Glass. Or Brigadoon. Narnia? Avalon? A place which should not be, but is.