These dreams of you
I woke this morning in a hotel room with that feeling of “Where am I?” and believe me that was a loaded question. When I turned on the light in the bathroom, I saw the red dotted face from whatever has bit me or made me allergic. And then I started making the slow progression into where am I.
I am about to turn 50, in New York on business in an economy that feels like quicksand, on my Facebook is a message from the German Shepherd we rescued who now lives with us, and on my bedside table is a note on Japanese paper my gf left in the bag with my picnic lunch she gave me for the plane, and on my cell is a text message I received yesterday from the birthgiver who changed her mind last week.
I look again in the mirror after brushing my teeth and think – gadzooks, I need to lose weight. And why is it so hot in here? I check the thermostat and realize, oh right, it’s me, who is hot, not the world. Global body warming is a menopause phenomenon. Then I remember a dream where people are coming up to me to tell me something and I move through them like the breeze through the trees – a phrase I overheard from a queen at the Country Club telling another queen about a Yugoslavian woman he’d had the pleasure of dining with years ago.
I pick up the sewing kit I begged off the desk clerk last night to replace the button my cashmere coat and find to my utter joy that the needle is prethreaded and think – it’s the simple pleasures that will get me through the rest of my life.
Now to face the first day of the rest of my life.