I’m up early, a little before five, and the wind is howling through the streets. I believe the weather people have predicted rain through at least the morning. I’m hoping for an invigorating spring rain rather than a Novermberesque I want to hide in the closet and think about killing myself kind of rain. I want the kind of rain that inspires me to open my office windows and move papers off the windowsill so they don’t get wet.
I need to describe a vivid, interesting dream before the images fade. M and I had moved to Manhattan with the kids and two of my colleagues from work, both women. We lived in the third floor of a stone building, like the kind you see in Lakeview and Lincoln Park down in Chicago, off on a side street, maybe four or five stories tall, very tight next to each building. I had snagged a job teaching first grade to very affluent children. The first day of work had gone well, but I had left the apartment for some reason in the morning the next day, and I couldn’t find either the apartment or my keys to the apartment the second day. I ran into an action research student who, when he discovered I wasn’t returning to Wisconsin, was worried that wouldn’t finish action research on time. I had this very intense fear and depression relating to showing up late for work and losing my job. Now, I didn’t wake with a start, but I woke afraid. I need to think about this dream for a while. There may be something to the pattern. The leaving the apartment and failing to find my way home intrigues me in particular.
Yesterday was ok. I was busy at work, brainfried by the end of the day, but I knocked out some paperwork, and I’m nearing completion on next year’s schedule. Last night I felt drained. T wanted to play volleyball outside, but I was way too exhausted and the last of winter too resilient for outside activity. I hardly moved from the couch until the boys were ready for bed. I read some of the Greek myths with them. They seemed especially interested in the Persephone story. I must finish that one with them tonight. We also invented a new character for our stories, a figure named Stompy, who has very large feet, four feet wide or so, and six feet long, but otherwise is normal size.
I have some thoughts on Gatsby, but I’ll save those for later. M’s birthday today. Still haven’t purchased her anything. More later.