While I’m busy distracting myself with decorating and tummy rubs, my subconcious is working hard. I’m more exhausted than normal when I wake up, because I’m spending half the night processing loss.
I’ve had lots of dreams based in the family home (sold about 15 years ago), though it’s all packed up and empty. The Old Man has featured, as as the absence of Herself- “She’s not coming back, but she’s left us all this stuff in the boxes”. We’re eating off our 1960s china, probably trendy now. Naturally, in the real world, we don’t have any left. The Brother and I have rustled up a meal for dozens out of the aged contents of the cupboards. Former work colleagues turned up. Then we proceeded to cook in the kitchen of Granny’s house, as it was when I was a child.
Soon the decorating and the school holidays will be over. There’ll just be me here all day, with the fire and the floor, and, eventually, the sofas. Then I’ll have the space to curl up with ‘Up’, ‘Bambi’ and ‘Toy Story 3’ … and break my heart. Until then, it seems, I’m letting my subconcious do all the work. Safer that way.
picture from flickr