dreams

Written on Day 1094.

Waking up wrapped in soft sheets. It’s summer, the ceiling fan whirls, and the bed smells like the two of you. His arm still falls over your waist and you play footsie with each other for a minute. He nuzzles your neck and then slips out of bed. He knows it takes you a minute to break into the morning, so you turn and move onto his pillow and spread-out, taking up the whole bed now. He pads down the stairs of the three story town house, in whichever city you’re living. You can hear the crunch of the coffee grinder, the toilet flush, the squeak of old pipes turning on for him to take a shower. He doesn’t drink coffee, he makes it just for you.

Finally, you get out of bed and you go get the paper. When he comes out of the shower and downstairs, you have situated yourself sitting like a yogi at the breakfast table reading the paper. When it’s just you and your unicorn, you walk around in pannies and an old t-shirt; this morning you stole the one that says “hang the dj.”

“What would you like for breakfast? I think there’s some spinach and mozzarella,” you say. With his toothbrush in his mouth, he continues brushing and nods his head. There are peonies from your backyard cut and in a clear vase on the table. You have a mismatch of plates and silverware, hand-blown Venetian glass juice cups that you picked up in college on your summer abroad. You start making breakfast with the heavy iron skillet, because the eggs taste better when they’ve been scrambled in it. Off-center, above the breakfast table, you hung a mobile you made when you were living in Washington, DC. A bicycle wheel without the tire and little bits of glass and shells and wooden toys, a hodge-podge of cheap jewelry hang from the spokes. It’s supposed to turn, but never does.

Out of the kitchen and into the office in the back which used to be a closed in porch which was converted into an area where you could watch the kids playing in the back and still futz around on the computer; you tell him that breakfast is served.

He takes the world news and you take the federal pages and eat in the wonderful silence of mid-morning. The kids are at your mom’s house for the weekend, you’ll have two days all to yourselves and the house will remain spotless.

Maybe you’ll go to the park, maybe you’ll go to the new museum exhibit downtown. Maybe you’ll find things to do around the house and stay inside all day long. Maybe he has plans with the guys, you know you have to get to my meeting tonight.

To return to earth, turn to page 41.

To stay safe inside insanity turn to 21.