I dreamt last night that all of my ex-boyfriends’ girlfriends, fiances, and wives were named Amy. I understood this was so I would be so confused about who was who that I would ultimately have to ignore them rather than continue to fret over the fact so many have so perfectly filled the gaps created by my absence.
And I do think about that. Not all the time, but more than I should. On a scale of 1 to eternity it’s really pretty inconsequential, no? But just the same: Once upon a time I thought I’d’ve found or been found by now. Or at least had someone to help pay for the groceries.
Thank you mom, dad, Mimi, Becca, James, Matthew, Debi and Ben for helping pay for the groceries last summer. I’ll never forget that. And I’ll never slip and call you Amy.
I dreamt last night that I was going to write in my blog about this odd dream I was having. I went into the dining room of a house I don’t know and sat down at a computer that wasn’t mine in an attempt to dump as many details as possible before I forgot them all. No sooner had I begun typing than Teller (of Penn & Teller) ran up behind me and began laughing in my ear while running his left hand over the keys, adding extraneous letters to jumble my words. Lots of “m”s, “j”s and “h”s. I tried pushing him away so I could finish writing before I forgot everything, but he very kindly told me to let it go, that I shouldn’t be so worried about not being wanted right now.
I knew he was right, but I was so frustrated at not being able to capture the dream’s details on paper that I walked away, leaving behind a dining room now filled with people I didn’t know and to whom I bore no ties.
I then dreamt I was on an old tug boat anchored in a small harbor in Door County, WI. The boat was made entirely of rotting, unpainted wood that had gone black with age. The chains holding it to the bottom of the lake were so strong, and so tightly fixed, that the vessel barely moved as the clear, gray lake lapped at its decaying hull. The dock surrounding it came up so close on all sides that I asked of no one in particular how it was even possible to turn the ship back out onto open water.
This boat doesn’t go out into open water anymore.
So what am I doing here?
This is your new office, Ruth. A false floor will be laid over the deck to keep out the chill when winter comes, though it will still be icy cold through your shoes, but that’s part of the adventure, isn’t it? There will be a desk for you to work at, and a tall, brown, leather chair for you to sit in, and it will be comfortable just for you since you can never disembark.
But I don’t think I want this dying boat to be my office, especially not this far north when winter comes, especially not forever.
You’ll come to enjoy it.
Not everyone gets a boat, you know.