I slept in an extra hour this morning. I could blame it on the advent of daylight savings, or even the fact that it’s Monday morning, except it wouldn’t be true. I woke up at the usual time and realised I had no interest in getting up. I feel that quite regularly, as I’m sure many people do. The difference this time was that I had just woken from a long dream. It felt warm, and I didn’t want stark reality intruding on it. I wanted to succumb to the sleepiness and return to the world the dream presented to me, and so I slumbered for another hour.
Over the weekend my sister visited. It has been school holidays, and she reported that she had felt mum’s absence more keenly now than she had before. It’s no surprise – it was in the school holidays that mum was most active with my sister and her kids. She’s gone, and left a great hole. We fell to reminiscing. The auction on Saturday had us recalling the time many years ago my sister bought her home, and how afterwards mum took us all out for a splendid lunch to celebrate. Mum was a great one for celebration, we both agreed. The smallest excuse was sufficient to pop a bottle of bubbles, or go out for a big meal, or have an impromptu barbecue. It seems hard to believe now, but those days – and for years on end – were rich with that. Looking back they seem days full of colour and noise, crowded with people and activity. Now all that is left is my sister, her kids, and me. It seems hardly conceivable.
For the last week or so I’ve missed things very keenly. I’m sure it was there before, but kept at bay. In retrospect the perpetual struggle to get things right has probably kept me so occupied that I haven’t really had the time to feel these things, but rarely. And it’s true, I’ve probably shied away from them also. The time for that has passed though.
Yes, I miss the warmth and community of family life as it was before, but accept that these things can’t last forever. It’s sad, but it’s also reality – people pass away, nothing remains in stasis, no matter how permanent it may seem. What I miss really are more intangible things. I miss being in love. I miss being loved. I miss that sense of anticipation and mystery and urgent need that goes with being in love. I miss the hope and light it showers you with, the shining star you can fix on even while everything else crumbles to ruins about you. I could use that, and regret that I did not use it better when I had it. I’m hard put to say that I’m a different man now, though the dramatic events of the last 6 months must do something. What I do say is that I’ve never been more ready for love than I am now. I feel I’m right to accept it as I couldn’t before. The problem is, I can’t.
I’m not exactly the misty eyed type. I’m directed by my mind, though with crazy-ass mix of instinct thrown in just to keep things interesting. I’ve been pushing shit uphill for a long time now. I’ve been resolute much of that time, and largely because I’m rational. People don’t see it, but I waver sometimes. There are times I feel very fragile inside. At those times I really miss the things that make life bearable. I’d love to have someone – other than this damn blog (and this only gets a fraction of it) – I could speak to. I’d love to close my eyes sometimes and be comforted like a boy. I’d like to switch off and know that someone was there on the look-out for me. I’d like to feel cared about.
I’m not fragile though. Fragility suggests something that could break at any time. That’s not the case with me, at least I think not. I feel I’m being used up though. Like one day I might reach for that thing that has kept me upright and find that there’s nothing remaining. I don’t want to be stoic.
Which brings me back to my dreams. I’ve been feeling wistful, and guilty of that masculine foolishness that blinds us to the important things when they’re there in front of us. My mind has drifted off. I find myself day-dreaming sometimes, closing my eyes to recall people and moments, laying in bed in the dark and feeling drawn back towards the things I no longer have. I find myself sentimental, desirous, angry. I fall asleep with it.
So I dreamt a serialised dream. The details elude, as most times. I know I worked with a girl. She was from the country, but was a long way from being a yokel. She was good and intelligent and caring and through the dream, like in a developing soap opera, I fell for her, and she for me. It felt good. Easy. Unfussed. Natural. In those brief moments of waking clarity in between I wondered why it can’t be like that in life. Or why it isn’t. Then I would return to the dream, and though nothing dramatic happened, you could believe that this was something that could go on forever, that in truth one could live happily ever after. She was no-one I knew, and waking I realised what I missed was the truth of a loving relationship. I had personified it in my mind, which is probably natural, but it was no more than a symbol.
I drifted off to sleep again past my get up time. Just to complicate things I had a different dream this time. Again, not much happened – I visit an office where a friend works, while I’m there I bump into a woman I know, visiting herself from another office. Nothing happens, we nod, or something, and as she goes off my mind spins.