i woke up with a headache in the middle of the night. took some medicine and went back to bed, only to have the stupidest dream ever with so many little beautiful bittersweet details; I woke up angry and depressed about my inability to move away from the old stuff. The house i was in belonged to my ex. I’m not sure why i was there, but it ended with my screaming about him having a beautiful life because mine was sacrificed for it. I wasn’t even screaming at him, I was just screaming.
hooowee. thats fun. Fantastic way to wake up. Still have the damn headache too.
but, the house was beautiful, so much so… and full of beautiful things. I loved it, there were characters all over the place, beautiful people, outfit changes. it was a franny and zooey thing, a gatsby thing, a period piece absolutely resonating with the energy of my beloved mother-in-law. Opulence, decadence, lavishness. In every corner was something you could get lost in. Tiny meditation spots, tapestry, corners and nooks and books and things of metal and mahogany. Candlelight and natural light and colors and layer upon layer of art, all of it. Embroidery, Noel, so much embroidery. There were winding stairs and linens and conversations all around. It was her, in house form.
Her son was there in all his glory, the outfit changes were his. It was sour for me, all in all, and I think i’m upset about the sourness. I wish I could go back and ignore the man for all the wonder of the place. I look around my house that I love, and I love it, and it is far too sprawling to have that level of decoration. It would eat me alive. But I miss and crave my mother-in-law. Her love for her people was lavish, and decadent. And I miss that. The entire dream may have been much more about grief than I initially thought. Her son just the clown of old costumes.
And I am alive.
I have not been sacrificed in a failed marriage. I am alive, and some might say I am thriving. Working my ass off in doubtful causes, but splendidly spilling over with life. . . Am i the set designer or am I a player? I don’t really know honestly. I certainly spend a lot of time accommodating changes in the script.
But that’s the game, isn’t it? Everything always changes, because people don’t stay on script. ever. neither does anything else. not the animals, the weather, the patterns of the clouds, nothing. There is no script, and we’re all strutting and fretting. (well, i’m fretting. )
Here’s to finding more opulence in our lives, finding the beauty that already surrounds us, and not being afraid of clowns.