Tiny White Flowers

Tiny White Flowers

Thursday, March 19, 2009

MIdnight note, 19 March 09

Truly a weird evening.  I've been trying so hard for days to not get sick.  DH got it first, and was sofa-bound for eleven whole days, which for him, is unheard of.  DS got it three days later, and missed four days of school.  DD and I finally began to get twinges of it by Sunday last.  So far, DD is holding out the best, and isn't suffering any real ill effects.  I, however, am still up, after trying to go to bed four hours ago.  It seems I'm prone to coughing each time I try to lie down.  So, after moving downstairs to the sofa, fitting it out with sheets and a pillow from the bed upstairs, doing the crossword - both the Warm-Up and the finishing touches on DH's NY Times one - and a cup of hot chocolate (inspired by something I *thought* I gleaned from one of the Down clues), here I am, still up.

Last night wasn't a whole lot better, except for the fact that I was able to fall asleep around ten.  But I awoke at 2:30, 3ish, and 5:30 or so, only to be woken up by the 6:40 alarm. But I did have a wonderfully weird dream, much of which I attribute to reading too much Kafka during the day, and too many different home remedies and cups of tea.  The last story I read in the collection was "The Country Doctor," a truly disturbing tale written in a very dreamlike way.  I love Kafka's masterful way of weaving a compelling story in such a nightmarish fashion.

So, next thing I knew, DH and I were dancing at my dead Grandmother's (DM's mother's) house.  There was a party going on, everything was lit, and the living room was very familiar, with the sofa just under the front window, next to the door, the chair between the entryway to the kitchen and the doorway to the downstairs bedroom, another love seat sofa at an angle to the corner, in front of a hutch, to the right of the door to the stairway leading up to the loft bedrooms. I really don't know who else was there - and there were people there; it was that kind of atmosphere - I just remember dancing with DH.  I'm pretty sure it was dark outside, but it could have been light.  It's just the sense I got; dancing in the evening.

Of course I wasn't the least surprised to be in the bathroom (not one in DG's house, but a very different, larger one).  It was very open, with a stall in the middle of it, the toilet paper holder attached to the outer frame, just in front.  No door, of course, and the paper in the holder was the width of printer paper; in fact, it was an on-going roll of snippets from a manuscript.  I had to go, but I was also interested in what was written on the paper roll.  

While I was settling in for a good read, a man walked in, an old man in ragged clothes.  I was only slightly perturbed, for it was the women's bathroom, but he asked to be allowed to stay and use it, and I didn't refuse him that request.  Rather, I found myself devising a way to pull my garments up and stand in one swift movement so as not to expose myself to him.  But when I looked up, he'd taken off his rags, and (while I was planning my bid for modesty) turned into a woman, blond, youngish, and not altogether remarkable.  And soon, other men wandered in through two other doors opposite the stall, and this room ceased to be a "women's room."  

Somewhere in all of this I noticed a rather large and interesting poster on a wall depicting a Lego town, and was becoming intrigued with it's detailed yellow coastline, determined to take it home (wherever that was) because it would be the perfect size for my wall.  


So, no gaping wounds, no travels through the snow lead by mysteriously appearing horses, no total nakedness, no attacks on my housemaid.  Just another dream where men turn into women, I misplace my husband, and I find myself once again in a very large bathroom, this time with only one toilet.



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