Misty

Last dream of the night is fading in the morning mist. The last wisp in my bean is of me and my friend Michael in Cambridge’s Central Square. We were headed to Mary Chung’s for lunch – holding hands and snagging kisses as we walked.

I was so relaxed and happy when I woke up. Was this a budding romance?

In real life, I’ve always been wild about Michael but:

A) he’s gay
B) he’s a happily married gay man
C) he’s at least ten years younger than me
D) he lives on the West Coast – not in Boston

No big amour, just two friends, mega chilled out and blithe in each other’s company. It was beautiful.

But what’s it mean? I often take direction from my dreams – once I suss out the symbolism that is. I feel dreams are often, not always, my subconscious giving me hints, bits of possible wisdom that my conscious mind’s too damn preoccupied and wired to get, to see.

Best guess of the moment? This is about Sky (who's not gay, BTW). In three weeks I’ll fly out to Oregon where we’ll meet live, in person, no longer online. The section of my brain which most closely resembles a shook up soda bottle going all Krakatoa in the noon day sun, is all What if he doesn’t think I’m sexy? What if my deafness is a hurdle we can’t clear? What if he thinks I’m dull as dirt? What if he thinks I'm just TOO weird? What if I’m too low energy and can’t keep up? What if? What if?

The tiny part of my bean where the smarts are stored, leaked into Dream World to tell me to chill the fuck out. At the very least I’ve a handsome, kind, smart, very interesting new friend. Anything more is a total bonus.

So, this morning I’m listening to the voices in my head – I’m relaxing, feeling all thrilled and shit over this serendipitous connection with Sky.

Yup, this is Zen and the art of one step at a time. I can do this.

Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting.
~ Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns 

Misty – Johnny Mathis