I had a bad dream after going back to sleep this morning. It was so intense. I dreamed I went to a party with some friends at some other friends' who are musicians, and no one would let me play or sing.
I was so mad and hurt that I was yelling at everyone. Then they would not take me
home, and since I do not drive I was stuck at
someone's house. They were telling me that
the reason was that I was drunk, although I did not recall drinking anything. Maybe I was a dry drunk.
So I fell asleep on a bed in one of their houses and actually was sleeping in my dream and really tired like a drugged sleep.
Then I awoke and threw off a blanket that had been put over me, still in the dream, not
really awake, dreaming awake, and said,
"I have an eight year old at home. He's all alone. I have to get home to my son!"
Still no one would drive me home, so I decided to walk, not knowing where I was, and there was highway 17 and I knew to go left, but I was so tired. She came out to ask me if I knew the right direction. I said, "yes", but it just seemed so far. I saw a hitch-hiker across the street, the side I needed to be on to hitch-hike, and although I knew it was dangerous, I felt it was the thing to do. All I could think about was, "I have to
get home to my boy. He is only eight years old. He's all alone. I've been gone so long. He is probably really scared and worried."
I woke up feeling relieved to be in my own bed and relieved to be home with my eight year old, and for a moment really believed I still had an eight year old, only ro remember that he is twenty-two and no longer living at home. I do have a son living at home, but he is the older one. It was my
baby I was dreaming about, my youngest.
I felt sad realizing this, that he was grown. Then I went about starting the day.
Someone close to me hurts my feelings from time to time, but I cannot get mad because he is sick. He has cancer. I walked to Goodwill and bought a kelly-green sweater that reminded me of vintage. Walking home the word forgiveness came to my mind and heart like a breath of fresh air, a drink of cool water in the parchment of the desert.
Lately I have felt saddened by small things. A friend who stayed with me for a weekend about a month ago left a stool in the living room. You never move furniture in a blind person's house. It is the only place where they can move confidently without fear of running into stuff or hurting themselves. I fell over the stool and busted my leg open bad in too places. I had large bandages, and then the skin began to renew itself on my shin, but it looks like it will scar. I am putting neosporin ointment on it regularly to prevent scarring. I was self-conscious at the concert, because I had a dress on and it was too hot to wear leggings, hosiery or tights. I thought of wearing boots, but it is May already today, late April then.
Somehow I do not feel the same about the individual that left that stool there, like I have a resentment, and just do not feel the same. Oh well. Being blind is a bitch to tell you the truth, from the lack of independent transportation, to the ignorant remarks, to the
times you hurt yourself because you were too vain to use your cane or someone thoughtlessly left something for you to fall all over.
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