A Fresh Start

I was so exhausted yesterday. I didn't do any cleaning. Nothing. In fact, last night's dinner is still out on the stove. I decided to go to bed with Bennett. We were in jammies at 7, reading stories in bed at 7.30, lights out and tussling at 8.00 and both of us passed out at 8.30. I feared that I would wake up three hours later ready to go, but no. I woke at 3.30 and laid awake for about 30 minutes and then.... back to sleep til 7 and I STILL lounged in bed for another hour while Bennett slept.

I had interesting dreams about 'spirit waters' - huge baths that allowed you to see spirits of people, both dead and alive.

And now I feel GOOD. On today's agenda: take B to the clinic to get a rash sorted, then Family Centre for a play, then home to CLEAN.

One of the benefits of Bennett sleeping longer and better is that I get to dream again. It is so fun. Last night I dreamt that I took all of the first year law school classes. It was the end of the year and I realized that I had completed L1 for fun. Because I am in grad school I could audit classes so I did... only to do them all and really well. And then I had to tell my professors that I actually hadn't ever applied for law school. In my dream I was contemplating going to do law school. Which there is no way in hell I am in real life!

The second dream involved me auditioning for a televised staging of Les Miserables. I was thin again, so that was nice.

I think my brain missing thinking/school and singing. And being thin.

Last night I had dreams about a cabin in a field off of the Gastineau Channel, a field that doesn't exist, of course. It then morphed into a wedding, many people I grew up with where there, and we were so happy. Full, belly aching laughs. One guy, a friend I've know since I was 6, who I haven't seen since we graduated high school, he and I were wrestling and rolling around on the floor laughing. He in his tux and me in a strapless cream silk brocade dress. Me, sans back fat and ginormous matronly boobs.

Then the dream morphed into a beautiful, elaborate arts salon. I was on a list to sing a baroque song. One I knew, but had never actually sung. I was surprisingly calm about having to do it. There were people in costumes, musicians, singers, almost like some sort of rococo themed back stage.

I woke so home sick, aching with nostalgia, aware of the lack of creativity, ease and spontaneous joyful laughter in my life these days. Not that things are grim, but the juiciness of my dream exposed the ordinariness of my living day to day.

There used to a website, Juneau Photos, that would post a new photo of Juneau every day. It is no more. But I found some sort of link to the photographers photos. These pictures are part of the reason I miss Juneau so much.

Latest prognosis: Friday is the earliest he'll be released. I was so hoping for mid week so that we could have some time ALONE together before Adam's parents and other loved guests arrive on Friday. I'm starting to feel like a caged lioness. I haven't spent a single minute alone with my child and I feel like my heart is in a vice grip. My patience is monumental. I can't believe I haven't beaten the shit out of a nurse yet. I still somehow manage to say please and thank you. I'm so tired. I'm so sick of the long isolated days at the hospital. I want to be exhausted and isolated in my own home like normal new moms.

I really don't know how I'm going to last the week. I had dreams last night of getting lost in the hospital and of nurses locking my baby away from me. It's like I'm doing all of the work, but getting very very little of the reward.

Today is a low day. It will pass. This too will pass. I'll just keep reminding myself of this, hour to hour.

Spring is on in full force here in the Bay Area. I barely seem to leave my couch these days. Sadly, walking is starting to make me ache in areas seemingly unrelated to my legs. I'm just so damn tired all the damn time. I really really want to indulge myself in the energy that I feel when I wake up to birds chirping and fresh, bright sunshine in the morning. I think I'm starting to get a (very small) surge of new energy thanks to spring. I have an itch to read the books piled up on the coffee table, to get out of the house, to finish some house hold projects. Still not feeling quite as motivated to sing or study, but I know that will come. (I actually dreamed last night of performing in an opera - which was really more like a musical - one I hadn't rehearsed for. But my improv worked and I sounded great. A decided subconscious shift from trying to sing only to find enormous wads of gum clogging up my mouth.)

I think part of me might also be entering the Nesting Phase of pregnancy. Some women seem to get this from the start. I'm not surprised it's taken me 2/3 of my pregnancy to get here. All of a sudden I realize that I have 11 weeks left - 11 weeks to prepare. Now's the time to read all the books I want to read, finish moving into our apartment (hang the stinkin' art!), wash the floors, get those side tables we've talked about, purchase the baby needs, etc. Now should also be the time to get cracking on the dissertation outline. But I've just given up for the time being. I'll do it. But I know if I hound myself I'll have an anxiety fueled crying jag. Ah, hormones.

The arrival of spring and the looking ahead to July also makes me a bit sad. Summer is coming and I won't be making my yearly pilgrimage back to SE Alaska. This year, around the 3rd and 4th of July I will not only be wondering if the Pea is immanent, but I'll also be sad that I'm not in Juneau. No long 18 hour days, no hikes in the rain forest, no whale watching off mum and dad's deck, no fishing, no foraging beach lettuce, no communing with the mountains or the sea, no seeing the friends I see for maybe one or two days a year. I'm sure once the babe is here I won't be thinking of this. July will be a blur of bonding and boobs and poop and baby.

I dreamt last night that I was in Juneau, walking out towards Thane. No cruise ship docks, old wooden framed houses, precarious icy dirt slopes to the water. I was having trouble staying balanced on the edge of the road. The sky was slate grey, a typical winter day's sky around 2 in the afternoon. I dream of this light from time to time since it's not available here.

My sister wants me to move to Anchorage. There are many good reasons to move there: nearer to my nieces, nearer to my sis, nearer to the Future Gov; Alaska; free day care: Sis can watch the baby while I work on my PhD. That's hard to pass up.

But Anchorage. It's a hole. If I want strip malls and box stores, gang violence and meth fiends, pretentious rich folk with fancy cars, I can stay right here in the Bay Area! It has many good things too, of course, the most important being that it is in Alaska and if you look up, over the fast food outlets and dingy streets, the mountains and ocean are right there.

But Juneau. I miss that town. Today I am homesick for the water, the overcast impenetrable grey skies, the fishing boats, the snow capped mountains, and even for some of the mind-numbing hometown politics.

No one ever finds another's dreams terribly interesting. Knowing that I plow ahead anyway to report that I had another death dream last night. I will spare many of the details leading up to the act, except to say that a man and his teenage son were killed by a large lurking dark executioner: their hair grabbed from behind and stabbed in the back. Upon replaying the dream in my dream, I was caught by the executioner witnessing the death of the boy in a garden. I ran to the dark shed where the man had been strung up and killed. Strange that that's where I chose to run to - I was hoping I could merge with the already dead man and fool the executioner. (Upon getting my bike this morning I realized the shed was an awful lot like the bike storage unit in my apartment building.) Unfortunately, the enormous executioner caught up with me before I could merge with the man. From behind he stabbed me in the back. I slumped to the ground and he closed my eyes and took off my shoes and left. I was relieved that he hadn't noticed I was still alive. I hoped my coat would block a lot of the bleeding. Blood began to fill my mouth: thick, warm and iron. I sat up to gush it out of my mouth. I did this twice. I heard someone outside. Getting up laboriously, I went to the door. "Help me! I'm starting to get cold," I said. The man, so distinct and blonde, had a strange sort of amused look on his face. He turned to leave. "Wait!" I said, "Who are you going to tell?" "The narrator," he replied, as if "of course." Who is this narrator, I thought? I went back to lie down in my spot. A very very tall, pale, older man entered the door frame: the doctor. He bent down to check my pulse. More blood pooled in my mouth. I don't think there was much hope for me.

I woke. Wondering if I had been drooling I checked my mouth. Nope no drool. But there was a tight chill in the place in my back where I had been stabbed in my dream.