Do You Know Where You're Going To

I was having this vivid dream featuring an ex, very ex, coworker and then boss. She called me into her office for a “chat.” Yeah, you know that kind of “talk” where you're sure, before you cross the threshold of the office, that you’re going to spend the rest of the day ricocheting between inexpressible volcanic fury, anxiety (anxiety that'd make Woody Allan look like an unusually laid back Deadhead) and fear. It's the kind of chat that puts you on notice—put one toe forward in just the wrong way and you’re out the door. On the street. Panhandling on Boylston St and bedding down under the Forest Hills Overpass.

Luckily, before the dream could go further into Nightmare on Sea Street territory my furry alarm clock landed on my chest. Ever notice how your cat weighs 8 tons at 4 AM and a feathery light 8 pounds after you’ve had your first cuppa joe? That’s my Coco anyway. I think she’s a shapeshifter—an elephant seal at night, an adorable small kitten by day.

Meanwhile, back at the bad dream's aftermath—at first I was wondering why Linda came to mind. I haven’t seen nor thought of her in a few light years. My pondering derailed as I remembered her, wondering who she is now.

When we met, in our early 20s, she was at the very tail end of her wild child years while I was still deeply entrenched in dancing life’s Extreme Tarantella and would be for decades to come. I know that we tried to do the social thing once but we were such a mismatch it was amazing enough that we could share a glass of wine without fisticuffs or naps breaking out.

She was going in the big corporate suit direction, went on to get her MBA even, and all I wanted to do was paint and play in the clay. And, oh yeah, hit The Middle East and T.T.’s as many nights out of the week that I possibly could. Not so horribly different from now actually.

Linda had parties to celebrate the Kentucky Derby and the Head of the Charles Regatta. I had pumpkin carving and egg painting parties. We weren’t on each other’s guest lists which made a ton of sense then and now.

Still and all, part of me wishes we could have formed some kind of connection. Why? Dunno. She was smart, strong, I respected her and felt that maybe there was some sliver of herself down deep, that wasn’t so hugely different from me. I could be spectacularly wrong on that. 

Where ever she is, I wish her well. I wish her molto grande joy-joy. If you know Linda Sawyer, tell her I said ‘hey.’
Diana Ross -- Do You Know