I dreamed about Kyle today. There were adventures, of the sort one has in a dreamscape – stuttered, frequently nonsensical, conveyed largely by impression – but I very vividly recall the very end of the matter. We were packing, he and I, and I knew in my bones that he was leaving for a long journey. In some manner this seemed right and proper – it had always been me who left, who packed the bags and strode boldly or tremulously into the future while Kyle stayed home. In any case, it was a tremendous packing job, one only fully realizable in a dream – a couch, for example, ended up zipped into a carry-on. When the dream shattered and I realized where I was (namely, in my bed in Carrboro), in that half-awake state wherein dream and reality are hard to distinguish, my strongest impression was of saying goodbye and watching him turn and walk away.
It took me a while to get out of bed this morning.
In some ways it's more challenging being here, since this is in the most direct sense real life; neither an interregnum nor a vacation. Here I stand, and every day I must decide on either paradise or prison. Penury continues to raise its ugly head, but I am familiar with every nook and cranny in that craggy visage. Frequently I feel alone, and frequently I wish Brad was still here for an adventure and a whisky, but Meredith has been kind enough to keep me company disproportionate to my deserts and bread cast upon the waters shall, I am confident, return tenfold unto the giver. Alex has moved in and now the house is much more closely approximating a home. I leave for Seattle on Friday, at a godforsaken hour of the AM, and the week after I return the school year begins.
It may or may not be shark week. I'm uncertain.
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