I have some vague recollection of a couple of images from last night:
I am in a very intense meeting with some people, both men and women. We are discussing something of importance and as time goes on, I realize we're talking about a book I'm supposed to write. I feel pressured to do something I'm not ready to do yet (to write a full-scale novel), and turn away from them to look out the window. I'm thinking of something else, my arms crossed and one hand brought to my face - the typical "thinking" pose. Everyone quiets down for a moment. I turn around and say, "What about a book of short stories and poetry?" I have that almost complete?" The people start talking again, some against the idea, but most of them agreeing that it is a good idea.
The next piece I remember is me entering a large beautiful home. It is near Yule, and the people there are getting set to decorate the tree. There is a deep, soft beige carpet on the floor and there are a couple of babies crawling around, happily enjoying all the activities. One of them has a glass ornament, and I gently take it away from him, all the while distracting him with some other toy. The mother comes over and tells me how happy she is I could join them for this season. At that moment, I feel rather at odds - I too, feel happy that I can be here, but at the same time there is a sense that it's a "pity" visit, as though the hosts were sorry that I might have spent it alone.
The baby is scooped up and taken to get changed. The mother stays away for a long time, and I go looking for them. I find her sitting in the washroom crying, but not really crying. Her face seems to drip this white milky substance, which she is unable to stop. She looks up, rather embarrassed to be seen like this, and tells me that occasionally this happens. She calls it "plum tea".
I take the child, while she washes her face, and all is right with her again. We make our way back into the living room...
No comments:
Post a Comment