I had a strange dream last night – one of those dreams that doesn’t evaporate into the mist of your mind when you wake up.
It’s been a long time since I dreamt something I could actually remember when an endless day repeated itself all over again, as if God had decided to have fun and make every Monday loop:
As in … getting the kids up, clothed and fed; Emma for school, Michael kindergarten; exchanging a few routines with Jon before he is off to patrol, reassuring myself that he will be home again tonight as always. As if nothing bad will happen to him if I just pretend that this is completely normal work; and finally getting my own behind hauled off to the nursing home.
If only I could have done something important before my life got sucked up in this routine.
If only I could have done something out of the ordinary.
I know it sounds pathetic because I’m only 32, but don’t you have the feeling sometimes that the race is run?
That this is all there is: … Rat racing …
Sometimes I feel so worn out already that I think I should be a resident in the nursing home, and not the one giving old Mr. Porter a hand to safely traverse the distance from wheelchair to dining room chair, and then making sure he doesn’t spill dinner all over himself when trying to get it to traverse from from plate to mouth.
Perhaps it’s because it’s Friday, and after another 9 hours there will be a freedom, of sorts, for a whole two days. Freedom enough at least to up on the Everest-sized piles of laundry and maybe get that last paint job done in the old barn. And maybe, if the kids fall asleep early, Jon and I could … you know.
But then again, since it’s the end of the week there is every chance that both he and I will fall asleep early, too.
I didn’t last night, though.
And perhaps that book had something to do with it. Continue reading