It’s the weekend.
Saturday morning and I am EXHAUSTED.
Last night I was supposed to hang out with friends, watch the NCAA tournament and do the whole social thing. But, I’m easily seduced, a book-slut without shame, and though I had every intention of leaving my house, once again I ended up — like the out-of-control lit-o-maniac I am — jumping lit-miscuously into bed with four books, a magazine, and my E-reader.
I’m not even going to tell you what some of the books were. NO, I’M NOT ASHAMED, but, one learns with age that there some details one should just keep to one’s self. This is my world, and while there are certainly days when I wish parts of it were otherwise, certainly moments, hours, days of lusting for … other, the truth is, most often, if I allow myself to just breathe and be, I am almost always contented and at peace in my bed with my books.
I think John Waters said it best:
Isn’t that the truth? No, actually, it isn’t. Don’t marry them, perhaps. But, fucking is an entirely different matter. As in, I read both literary and popular fiction. Not every novel is going to be Didion’s Play It As It Lays. I love a nice book-centric, mystery cozy, or a crime-adventure by John Sandford or Harlan Coben. That’s who I was
fucking reading last night.
Now, today, it’s all gray and damp and there is a prediction that between this afternoon and tomorrow night there will be more than two inches of rain dumped here. This just give sme ONE MORE excuse NOT to move from my couch/bed. Once I give in to the “stay home and read and hide” urge, it becomes increasingly difficult with every passing hour/day/book to convince myself I must again leave the house and engage the world. My engagements with the world have never really gone that well. Bring on the rain, it’s better than another foot of snow, but, also, a perfect excuse to stay in, snuggled, with a pile of books full of other worlds into which to escape.
I might need to escape, it seems. Twice yesterday I was almost killed on the highway, both times by vehicles which either did not see me or did not care and pulled at 60-plus miles per hour into my lane, forcing me off the road. Three times in the last 48 hours I have been — out of the blue and without prompting of any sort — messaged by friends making sure I was okay, saying they were thinking about me or sending me love. In the middle of the night two nights ago I woke at 2a.m. scratching myself unto bleeding, broken out all over in hives — something that has NEVER happened to me before — and had to take drugs and bathe in SeaBreeze to get it to stop. This morning when I brushed my teeth, and did the rinse and spit, the sink was filled with blood. This on top of that weird, eight hour, heaving stomach virus I had last week. Am I on my way OUT?
All of these weirdnesses were then topped by last evening’s dream.
In brief; I have not dreamed about him since he died. Ten years ago. When he was alive, and we were apart, which was almost always, I dreamed about him regularly. Now, last night, I had this beautiful – sort of – dream in which we were together again, it was now, somehow, and I asked – “Where have you been? Why did you wait so long to come back? Why couldn’t you do this when we were both alive?” As in life, he didn’t answer questions that made him uncomfortable – or, made him think – he said, “I’ve been waiting for you.” We were wandering around this huge, ancient barn, all full of the detritus of a farm which had long since stopped operating as a farm, and we made our way up into a loft – floated actually – and we were sitting on huge, thick beams of old wood I knew was full of splinters, leaned against pillowy bales of hay, his arms around me, me falling asleep on his chest, trying to stay awake because I knew – somehow – we didn’t have much time. And as soon as I thought that, he said, “You have to sit up, I’m getting tired and I won’t be able to stay here much longer.” I started to cry and said, “Please, just let me sleep on you for a little while again, you don’t have to stay awake.” He laughed and said, “Chuckles, YOU have to stay awake, just a little longer.”
And I woke up. Weeping. Saying his name.
I want to go to sleep. Really. I do.