January 09, 2004

9:42 a.m.

Disconcertingly Logical Theories

8:30 came and I didn't want to get up, as usual, even though I got almost 8 hours -- how rare. I'd been having a dream involving driving down a little alley street in Italy and being lost, so I pulled over to look at a scrap of paper or a brochure to find my way, and this very Keystone-cops-looking gendarme walked up to the front of my car, saw that I was illegally paused, and said, "Ahhhhhhhh!" which, translated into English, meant, "NOW I've caught you!" I went into Distressed Damsel mode, explaining anxiously that, no, I wasn't exactly parked, just lost, and I needed help, and could he help me find my way? He immediately became friendly and dropped the whole ticket quota idea, and was going to give me directions. Later I wasn't in my car at all, but flying (VERY high, almost to the point of vertigo, utterly unusual for my flying dreams) down a tree-lined country road with green fields on either side. Don't know where I was going, but the journey was enjoyable.

So I lay there all sandy-eyed, looking at the clock and giving myself five more minutes, trying to deep-breathe because the lungs are a little stiff sometimes in the morning (asthma) and that seems to help. Will is coming this morning, I thought, and I still have to tidy the apartment, take out the trash, and make my "office" (the area right inside the front door) look unlike a war zone, in addition to actually waking up and letting the pillow wrinkles fade from my face. Get up. Five more minutes though. Then get up. Get UP. Hey... Diaryland... I can visit Diaryland while I have my coffee, yeah. Well, won't that be nice? So I got up and immediately started cleaning the bathroom, then moved on to the vaccuuming, tidied the office (minimally; I'm only one woman, after all), opened a few windows (ARGH it's bloody cold), made the coffee... you know, the place looks pretty nice now. Will's due in just under an hour.

I was kind of nervous or something last night, and then I felt it would all be anticlimactic, like when you're looking forward to the circus for weeks and you can think of nothing else, but then when the day comes you feel rather nonchalant about it. Then I thought I should meditate a bit on the whole thing, because I really pulled myself through something amazing and difficult the last two years, and that should be acknowledged. Will hasn't visited me since probably March of '02, and I've only seen him in person once since that time. And he's never been here, to this apartment. I haven't really taken the time to think about the importance of it all, but at least its "rite of passage" status is in my mind.

Sometimes I wish I were more like Annie in Bull Durham -- full of stretchy but disconcertingly logical theories based on literature and life experience, unshakably sure of herself, sensuous and nonjudgmental. (I'd take her bone structure as well, but that's another matter.) I also loved her house. The house thing again.

Bornearly, signing off for now.