What I’ve realized of late is that I don’t just hold my breath at times. I hold my life. For the same basic reason. In anticipation. It’s a bad thing to do, I know, but it’s almost involuntary. Since May 12th, I have consistently held my life… as I introduced my body to all sorts of new things: Mitochondrial Energy Support pills, Co-Enzyme Q10, DHA, Folic Acid, Birth Control, Lupron, Lovenox, Progesterone in Oil, Progesterone Suppositories, Medrol, Estradiol, Gonal-F, Colace, Human Chorionic Gonadotrophin, Amoxycillin, Metronidazole, Ofloaxin, Terconazole, Phenazopyradine. *takes a breath*

Just to name a few.

Some pills. Some shots. Some salves. All more than this little girl takes in “medication” any given day. I rarely take aspirin for a headache (it’s got to be a REALLY REALLY bad headache). And the more meds I took… and the more I held my life in stasis… waiting to see what would happen next. All the side effects they told me would happen: moodiness, hot flashes, soreness, constipation, diarrhea, nausea, numbness, weight loss, weight gain, bloating, dehydradtion… you name it… I was suppose to feel it. So I held my life… held my breath and waited… because all of that was in anticipation of maybe becoming pregnant at the end of the cycle. So… smaller things in life took a back seat where they could – AKA in large part took a hit. Larger things became more magnified and took precedence and went under scrutiny… work, home life.

And here I am – on the other side of it all. Childless still – but with hope of trying several times again. In a new job that needs me and compensates accordingly. And refocusing on the things I put on hold. Detoxing for a little while and only keeping up with my vitamins and the diet on which I dropped 15 lbs… and finally

*exhaling*

*

As I slept, I dreamt about an island in the night. A small island, covered in palm and plants and the camera of my mind circled over the island. There was activity in the center the land… firelight… drums… an ancestral ritual and dance. Getting in closer, we find those natives dancing about the fire in ceremonial dress chanting and pounding the earth with their feet causing a unified noise through out the island. And the closer I got the more intense it became until one of the natives let out a blood curdling cry that announced the event’s commencement. I suddenly found myself in the center of this event in a bamboo contraption that perched me so that i was 4 feed off the ground, but it had no SEAT per se. My belly was HUGE with child and I had on a white linen garment with shells and beads – although dusty from the moving terra and dancers. In front of me…. my mother on my left side. my grand mother at my right. my right foot planted on my grandmothers left shoulder and she held me tight by my knee and my left leg on my mother’s right shoulder while she did the same. They both moved towards me which placed me in a squat position and told me to push. And although I was scared to push, their presence assured me that I didn’t have anything to fear. I pushed… but didn’t give it my all. I didn’t really feel anything. The drums beat louder and my heart was pounding in tandem. “POUSSER!!” my mother implored (which means push in french) and I felt her grip on my knee tighten and her move closer and this time i PUSHED and something came out… a red bloody mass attached to me with a long bloody cord… not like what I’ve seen on the stories or in books… My mother took the main mass (which normally would have been a baby) and carried it away which only gave my grandmother mere seconds to cut the bloody cord, which she did swiftly. No sooner did she cut the cord than was my mouth FILLED with blood… Cheeks puffed out trying to hold all the blood that was suddenly in my mouth. Not spitting it out because I sense that it was important to keep it there until the proper vessel was presented, I wanted to ask my grandmother who was still there – “where is my baby?” and she looked at me almost sympathetically, but didn’t respond. I looked at the bloody trail that was left behind by my mother carting away the bloody mass but couldn’t see any trace of my mother. I started to break down. The blood leaked out of my mouth onto my white, dusted garment and I fell to the floor where more blood began to pour out of me from all orifices. And the dancing became more intense with the chanting and the final scream of my grandmother with white shaman face makeup…..

And i woke up.

I’m shaken because my GRANDMOTHER normally comes to give me good news….

I have NO idea what this is supposed to mean…….

*

How do you know that what you’ve experienced is real? Versus another dream in your head that is so… “real”istic? I read past memories through this blog and some of the actual memories feel like a distant dream. What makes those real? How do I know for certain I went through them? Unless I have someone who can verify… and then… could it be the stuff of mass delusion? Occasionally I struggle… with this question. I suppose it’s an offshoot of the more common “What is the Meaning of Life” question that folks like to ask. My mission is to discern what is real from what is feigned and the line blurs way more often than I care to imagine. I touch my hunny’s skin and it feel real to me… soft and chocolatey and wonderful. And he reacts to my touch… with a smile or some goosebumps. And in that instant I think he’s real. Not a figment of my imagination. Not a cast member placed here to help play out the whims of my life story. Some one truly real in my life and here. But that fleeting assuredness is chased away by the thought – “one day he won’t be real anymore…” Just like Grandma and mom and dad aren’t anymore. They were a bastion in reality for me. And now all I have is the concept of them. The remembrance of how real they WERE. But are no longer. Then I try to soak up all the “realness” of each moment. So I don’t forget. Collect all my “pretty pictures” so I have them to go with me when all is said and done.

I watched “A Beautiful Mind” last night. I’d seen it before and was always intrigued that someone with something as severe as Paranoid Schizophrenia could overcome it or at least cord it off so he could live somewhat of a normal existence and still benefit from his genius. What I noted last night is that the schitzophrenia had him in such a way that those characters that followed him around were all as real to him as the regular people roaming the earth (according to the movie). He would engage in conversation with them. He could interact with them. Touch them. Feel them. They never actually “went away” he just stopped interacting with them because it would lend to too much of a fantasy world that was not actually a part of our reality. But for all intents and purposes, until someone told him “no – these are not real people – we don’t see them. This is all in your head,” they were a very real and regular part of his life. The mind is Beautiful in its constructs. What it makes you know to be true versus anyone else’s interpretation.

I thought about it a lot last night. And this morning. I thought I’d write it down. Maybe that makes it real.

On another note, I got my hands on the new Erykah Badu album. It’s called “The New Amerykah Part II – Return of the Ankh”. I’ll say honestly that I’d not loved “Worldwide Underground” or “The New Amerykah Part I – 4th World War” with the passion that I loved Baduism, the Live Album or Mama’s Gun (the latter being my absolute FAVORITE Erykah album). But I DO love this new album. It immediately surpassed the last two in my mind to take up position as the 4th Erykah Album that I truly enjoyed. With that, I’ve already identified a song that I can relate to in a very surreal way. Although it’s done in the same three movement style as “Green Eyes” (for which I adored ALL THREE movements), “Out My Mind Just in Time’s” first movement hits me right *here* (pointing to my head and my heart). Music. Sentiment. Emotion and execution all join forces for it to sound like Erykah has watched my past relationships and took a little while to quantify what she read. But finally found the very simplest words to express my addiction. My compulsion. I expressed to MJ yesterday that the main issue with me is that I remember vividly and sometimes still feel in my heart how very deeply I loved… EVERYONE. It’s still incredibly real to me. But as a side effect… I also remember how hurt I felt.

I’m a recovering undercover over-lover
Recovering from a love I can’t get over
Recovering undercover over-lover
And now my common law lover thinks he wants another

And I’d lie for you… I’d cry for you
‘n pop for you and break for you
And hate for you and hate you too
If you want me to… ahhh ooooh
I’d pray for you… Crochet for you
Make it from scratch for you
Leave off the latch for you
Go to the Store for you
Do it some more for you
Do what you want me to
Guess I’m a fool for you

I’m a recovering undercover over-lover
Recovering from a love I can’t get over oooh I
Recovering undercover over-lover
And now my common law lover thinks he wants another

And I’d lie for you… and cry for you
‘n pop for you… break for you
‘n hate for you and I’ll hate you too
If you want me to… I gotta do
My Love for you
Chop and Screw for you
Paint it Red for you
It’s true it’s true
Poor Badu…
Ooooh oooh ooh
Thought I was through with you
Guess I’m a fool for you….

*

There was some kind of a crisis outside of a friends building – there was a rally of police cars, fire trucks… something was going down and I happened to be there at my friends house for a get together. When everything died down, we went back upstairs to the apartment party where everyone was sitting around wherever they needed to – living room, kitchen, bedrooms… whatever. I chose to sit on the corner of her bed along with a group of people who sat around the room, on the floor, in chairs and what not watching tv and chatting. I was on the bed playing with my friends baby daughter and ultimately ended up changing her right there (odd – I know). The vibe of the party was this uuber conscious “granola” crowd – a lot of blacks who were fully aware of their “roots” – traced their ancestry back to the countries in Africa, cut off their processed hair and wore clothing weaved of hemp (it’s extreme, but you see them at all the Erykah Badu concerts – drum that up in your mind). And I guess – it’s now not too far of a stretch of the imagination that I was one of them.

So I’m changing this sweet baby girl – not out of anything that would overload the room – but I think I was changing her clothes. And I hear a relatively deep voice from behind me on the bed say softly, “S’ak Passe, cherie m’wen?” (which in creole means – what’s happening my sweet?). So I turn around and laid across the other side of the bed propped up on one arm is this very attractive, very familiar looking man. Light skinned. Tall. Head full of brown curlies, clean shaven, hazel eyes, wicked smile and SWAG… just oozing out of him. I feel like I’ve seen him before… on TV. But in the dream I’m pretty sure he’s a bball player. I respond to him shyly “N’ap kembe.. piti piti.” (which is the equivalent of “hanging in there”). He’s chatting with me for a little while but the whole time he’s talking to me… I could FEEL that he’d locked in on me. I was the subject of his interest and the rest of the world disappeared. He was completely enthralled with me and it felt… amazing. Even through a dream — to have someone think so much of me that I deserved their full attention. Our conversation began to have to wind down because I believe I had to go. In the dream it seems I’m very much still someone else’s girl. “When can I see you again… or talk to you again…?” he asked – being very respectful of my personal space but somehow yet still getting close enough to let me feel his interest. I shrugged and said… I’m not sure…. I smiled shyly again and he ran his hand down the length of my arms and when he got to my hands he looked at them and said… “you have such small hands – they’re beautiful”… And I was about to protest… because the entire monde entiere KNOWS i hate my hands (and feet) because of how very big they are – inherited from my 6′ 5″ father… But I looked at my hand in the expanse of his… BBALL Player… and yeah. They were small in comparison. I glanced at my bberry and announced that I had to go. I reached up to hug him and left. By the time I got in the car I was chatting with some other girlfriends and I heard a BBM message come through. And it was him. I read the screen clearly (which is nearly impossible in a dream… but I managed to read AND remember his name) “Corey Cleophat: Thank you for giving me the chance to meet you. You’re amazing and beautiful and I can’t wait to chat with you again” And I swooned, because i didn’t give him my BBM name so he had to have tried to figure it out or ask someone, but the chase was beginning… he wasn’t going to let me go that quickly.

Then woke up.

So this is a very different kind of swooning in comparison to the swooning I had with my chocolate doctor dream. That dream was creepy moreso because I knew and felt it in my being that I belonged with that doctor man. He was THE PERFECT one… And beyond all sensations I really knew that we were beyond kindred or star crossed… just … destined. With this guy… it was just… so good to be pursued and genuinely wanted. And I’ve been wondering lately – when does that go away? The desire to still be found attractive and worthy of chase. I would think that after marriage beyond it being unnecessary – It can be misconstrued as displeasure or discontent in the current decision. I’m not displeased or discontent in my marriage — however, I wonder if anyone else in the world finds me attractive at all because at this point in life it feels like just the hubby. And that SHOULD be enough. I just wonder how powerful those little bands I put on in the morning are. Like a cloak of invisibility to the opposite sex. They can’t even SEE me to comment on me. It feels a little like disappearing.

But it was good to feel like a genuine article of desire even though it was all in my mind.

*

Again in this dream, I focus in on the point where there is a massive pomp and circumstance. We’re in quite a grand ballroom where many a gala are taking place. Parties here… wedding there… and look… they just rolled that maroon casket over to the Veranda room…

Casket?

I’m chasing down the Maitre’d because somethings amiss in our room. There isn’t enough of something… something is missing… something ain’t right… and he has to come fix it now. We enter the room where we’re having our event and I’m having some small talk with the Maitre’d about how many grand affairs everyone is having tonight at this fine establishment and he was sure to agree with everything I said. Our ballroom was the GRANDEST… high ceiling, gold gilded walls, cameo shaped portraits and red velvet curtains with gold tassles. Waiters milling about and all the guests fancily decked out in black. After a few people clear the view… there it is. In the center of the room at the head of the dancefloor… a sight to see… My mother’s casket lifted up on some contraption so it was high up off the ground, exalted for all to see. And the Maitre’d walks right over to it. and opens up the top. The part of my mind in the dream that’s still based in reality and fact holds back an open mouthed scream because… WHY IS HE DOING THIS??? But it’s quickly calmed by the part of my mind that’s completely entrenched in this dream and knows this has to happen and is normal. Out of it steps a lovely… in tact… comfortably slimmer… MOBILE… younger… Mommy. Adorned in the same pretty pink dress… her last dress – the one we buried her in, she steps all the way down the stairs as the admiring audience claps and she smiles and acknowledges them with a very professional Miss America wave. She notices me off to the side comes to hug me. And I hear her say CLEARLY, “Vicky…. Vicky… ” I hear HER voice… as if she was trying to wake me. Same voice I haven’t heard in a year and some… clear as a bell… like I’ve not actually forgotten what it sounds like. And I throw my arms around her. GOD she smells good. Mommy ALWAYS smelled good… And I held her tight… for a long time, yearning for her to say something again, so I could feel that familiar vibration of her voice from her body to mine. That sweet sensation that ALL babies live for. But she broke the embrace first. She touched my face and then went milling about to socialize. I was in a trance. I followed her around like a little puppy dog, always staying one or two steps behind… but just far away enough to see her face clearly… see her smile… enjoy her ways. As the night drew to a close, it was time for her to go back…

Back? Back where??

She started to climb up the display case again and laid back down in the casket. They closed the torso portion… and as they prepared to closed the top part… I saw her face become angry… sad… confused… And I immediately thought “she’s not going to like this part one bit.” They began to crank the pillow down and her face lit up in protest… “What are you doing??” She yelled at the Maitre’d. He replied softly that it was just for the night and tomorrow she’d be back, but they have to “store” her this way. I rushed to her side to assure her that everything was going to be fine and she shot me a look that said, You KNOW it’s not going to be fine… but I’ll let it slip for this once…. They cranked her head down and shut the casket face. Guests solemnly left the scene as someone announced that it would be at the same time and place tomorrow, don’t forget.

As I’m walking out of the ballroom, I get a phone call from a number I don’t recognize. I pick up the phone… “Hello?” It’s her… “Vicky… there’s a bag by the air conditioner, it says something about Safety Deposit on the front of the bag… either way… it’s full of bills from last month and I need you to bring it to me tomorrow so that I can rectify some of these bills that have been laying around since I’ve been gone” Oh no…. how do I tell her… we lost the apartment… and in the process had to throw away… EVERYTHING because there was no way for us to assign meaning and importance to the things that belonged to her and dad w/o their minds and sentimentality to tell us otherwise. I tried breaking the news to her. “Mommy, you’ve been gone for over a year now… we did throw some stuff away…” There was a hearkened silence on the other end of the line. I tried to allay her fears because the last thing I wanted to do was upset this dear spirit. “But you know what, I’ll look anyway – what did the bag have in it again?” She started to speak.. but it was broken up by deep breaths. Almost like …. she’s hyperventilating. “Mom…. Mommy… calm down… you’re losing it because you’re in the casket… try to take deep breaths mommy….” I imitated the deep breaths for her so she could follow… When she calmed down enough, she asked “Why am I in here? I want to go home….” “It’s just for today and tomorrow. Once those days are over, you’ll go back…” “Back to where,” she asked bewildered, “I want to stay here…” Some rule that I can’t articulate in this dimension of real life had me knowing that was impossible. These things only lasted for 2 days and that was it. She started to get irate… “I want the bag with my bills in it… I need to rectify these bills because I know you and your brother haven’t.” Upset and hurt, I raised my voice, “MOM… the bills are gone. We threw all the papers away…” in my mind I lined up all the things I would have to admit to now… moving her china cabinet to Brooklyn, losing her apartment where she lived for the last 38 years of her life, throwing away her precious Home Shopping Club purchased Capodimonte…. I continued “Mommy… you were dead to us for a year… What would you have had us do? Hold on to everything on the off chance that you’d come back and stay? This doesn’t always happen you know… and even in this rare exception, you’re not staying…” Silence. Understanding. She replied softly almost as if … she was fading into a vast distance… “But I want to stay…….”

In the narthex of my mind between the exit of that dream and the entrance of my reality, I comforted myself with the knowledge that she didn’t WANT to stay. Life here on this earth had become unbearable for her between her physical ails, loss of her mom… loss of her husband… She WANTED to leave. And we wanted more for her to stay than she did.

There’ll be no more sleep for me tonight.

*

I started today’s post with the intention of documenting this CRAZY dream I had last night. The longer I’m awake though – the less of it I remember – but it was along the lines of this. I was supposed to drive somewhere. But I really was in NO condition to drive. I was either DUMB tired or really drunk. I obviously fell asleep at some point but had the wherewithall to pull the car over to sleep. It took me a second to regain focus in the dream upon waking up but when I did, the light inside the car was on and the dashboard was on but the lights outside my car were off. I tried to start the engine and got nothing. I must’ve drained the battery – but how long could I have been asleep. I finally tried looking around to see where I was and it look like the more suburban parts of Queens — over by Springfield Gardens / Rosedale and the like. But I wasn’t familiar with the particular block I was on. While looking around, I saw that I left my passenger side door open all night. At this point it was dawn so I could see a little better and there were all sorts of suburban bugs just … lined up on my car door. I realize now that my younger brother is in the car with me, but he’s a cross between David and my cousin-in-law, Sammy. So he’s actually YOUNG – like sitting in a booster seat style young. He helps me beat the bugs off the door and I pull the door shut – of course, even in my dream, casting a watchful eye over the door in case we missed any. Now… I think to myself… about this battery… I’d turned off everything in the hopes of allowing the battery some time to relax and “recharge” and I put the key in the ignition and it revved. Awesome – let’s get the eff outta here. I was about to put my car in drive when this motorcycle / smartcar thing rolls up next to my driverside and their passenger gets out slamming her door into mine and denting it. She emerged from the car – white woman, older, about 45 or so. trying to be in shape but there are some pockets that aren’t getting attention and decidedly Goth. She has piercings in her eyebrow, nose and lip. I open my door and shout “are you serious???” and she shoves my car door closed and tells me to deal with it. So in my mind I say, I’m about to. I get out of the car and catch up to her as she’s quickly walking to her house and shove her on the ground. She lands on her lawn and starts to whine, “why’d you push me???” And I told her, “Cause I don’t fux with disrespectful bitches.” She looked like she was gonna stay down (so much for the people in her ride having her back) – so I walked back over to my car and got in. Put the ignition key in and…… Nothing. At that point, I began the waking up process, in real life.

Today’s going to be a tough one. We’re all descending upon 4111 Elbertson St. perhaps for the last time. Get the last few things out now while we can and hopefully get Dominic out before the legal proceedings begin again. 40 years we’d been in that apartment building. A solid 30 in that particular apartment. It’s a lot of history. And every time Earl mentions “throwing”_______”away” I think about all the history _______ had. History I’d forgotten. But it has to be let go. My parent’s couldn’t take it with them. They both had NO plan to speak of regarding what was to be done with their worldly possessions. So… No need for me to add to my children’s burden. When mommy was alive, I used to beg with her to PLEASE not let me have to go through her papers AND Grandma’s papers… she couldn’t bring herself to go through her mother’s papers. 5 years had passed and still nothing. Today is it – go through the dregs of grandma, mommy and daddy’s final “remains” decide what stays and what goes and discard the rest. Never to return to it again. Never see the inside of the place where I grew up again. Although the memories are bittersweet, I hang on to the really good times tighter than I do the traumatic, bad times. I guess now? I can never go home. Not to THAT one. And it’s time for me to forge forward and make a new one – for myself and my progeny. One that they’ll potentially be able to pass down. Not rent or borrow from anyone else. Now there’s a dream

Wish me luck

*

Where I pick this dream up is that a bunch of people I know, mixed company from all the walks of my life, are getting together for some kind of a party…. game night… beer night… watch tv at a bar night – something non monumental and E and I have decided to go. So we’re getting ready to go and there’s all this debate between he and I about which car to take. I, unusually, am lobbying HARD to take both cars. And in my dream mind I’m positive this is the right thing to do because if I don’t, I’m pretty positive that I’ll be trying to find a ride home at the end of the night. Obviously in this dream, Earl is someone who might flat leave me (which is furthest from reality). But I win the argument and we take both cars but now he’s on a mission to make SURE that we don’t come home together. He’s on the phone calling the male persons in our get-together party and trying to set up “after” party activities – namely drinking and hitting the strip club. (Now I’m POSITIVE that I’m dreaming because … like… not Earl in real life… like not never. Not drinking. Not strip clubbing).

So we get to the club and it’s a pretty decent club – nothing amazingly shocking or anything. And it looks like we have a full house and as I’m looking around, I see a lot of people from my life who might have been a part of it at one point, but not as a main character. You know… the ones that were always around in the hall at school or hanging out in the game room at the dorms or work in a different department than you at work and you say hi in the halls — but not necessarily the ones that you’d invite to your wedding or expect to see there by your side in times of need. But this particular room was filled with those characters for my life and all age appropriate. The folks that were there from Elementary school were about 35 and looked as they do now. The folks from HS and College and work… were all their proper age. Playing pool, having beers, chatting it up and away. Seemed like a prety okay night for the most part.

At one point I start looking around and can’t find Earl. And when I start to seek him out, some of my friends begin to put up some chaff and flare for him, distracting me and trying to make me change my focus. I see what’s happening so I don’t petition too hard to find him and decide that maybe it’s better to just do something else. So I grab 2 friends – Li’l Vic and Mani (my co worker) and we go to the corner Bodega which seemed to be juiced up like a 7-11 – it was bright inside and stocked heavily with everything. Mani comes over and asks me to borrow a dollar. I reach in my pocket and pull a rather tattered one out. As I try to hand it to her she points to a case behind me of lottery tickets and tells me to buy the Mega Millions Scratch off (or something along those lines). So i purchase it and turn around to hand it to her. She hands me a nickel to scratch off the area. I do and it reveals “CONGRATULATIONS!! YOU’VE WON THE 1 MILLION DOLLAR GRAND PRIZE!!!” I start to get very excited and I show Mani and she snatches the card out of my hand with glee and starts parading up and down the aisled – “I WON! I WON!” she’s exclaiming. And I stand there watching her wondering… wait… it was my dollar… I even scratched it off…. And I feel a brood coming on. She comes dancing back over to me and says “Well??? What do i do?” I remember from my very limited knowledge of lottery that you have to give it to the store owner for verification and possible pay out because the store gets a cut as well for being a winning location. So we hand it to the store clerk who looks at he ticket and looks at us and then at the ticket again and says that he won’t be able to give it to her in cash – she’ll have to accept a check for now. She shrugs and says, “Well can you write it out for $100 less and give that to me in cash? ” The clerk shrugs and says “Why not”. Still wrestling with the idea that it was my dollar and I scratched the ticket, I ask Mani if I can hold some money till pay day on Friday. And she gives me a screw face and announces that she MUST have it back by Friday. Now, I’m annoyed. “Damnit, girl… it was MY dollar you asked to borrow to get the ticket!!!” And she says “Yes… so you’ll owe me one dollar less on Friday when you pay me back”. (Editors Note: Mani in real life is NO WHERE NEAR this catty and horrible. She’s the friendliest, sweetest girl EVER). So she instructs the bodega guy to make it 200 and hands me $100 that I slide into my pocket and begin making plans for and accounting it in my head for removal from my check funds on Friday.

We head back to the club and she’s really low key about winning and we’re all still hanging together when my elementary school friend Rossana comes up to me and says, “I hope you drove, honey… cause you’re husband left a WHILE ago with the guys to hit the strip club…. You look tired.” And I nodded that I was. And now I was hurt as well.

I gradually woke up and had this song in my head. (sometimes the songs are related… and sometimes not…)

I was visiting a friend (who by what she looks like in the dream… I’ve never seen or met this woman before in real life). And her house is far out in the suburbs of either Long Island or New Jersey. BIG, spacious beautiful house on expansive land. I dare say the house nearly qualifies as a mansion with it’s “east” and “west” wings and green house in the back where she seemed to like to spend so much time that there was a little tea table and chairs set up right on the edge of it so she could watch her garden grow. During this particular visit, this friend tells me, it’s not her house… it’s her recently departed Father’s house. She was sure that he left it to her in his will and she was looking for what to do with it next after the Will reading would take place next week (in the dream, of course). It was too much house for just her and she knew that it would just be another point of argument for her and her 10 siblings who’ve been methodically rationing out everything to themselves in their heads in lieu of the reading of the will. But she had an understanding with her dad and knew he’d leave the house up to her.

She proceeded to give me a tour of this house. It was VAST. Huge foyer, stairwell, living room area, parlour and dining room. A Kitchen with an island and huge storage freezer and mexican tile floors. The basement, which was the only part i didn’t love was furnished but there seemed to be a pre existing issue with flooding that was apparant to me. Then the up stairs. Off to the side of the living room area, there seemed to be some loft stairs that led to a full level the size of the living room area, unfurnished but finished and ready to be lived in. It had a separate entrance. In the dream I think… this would be perfect for Domi… And THAT area had an upstairs (so it was a duplex apartment within the house). And the upstairs portion had a kitchen, parlour, living room – was completely furnished in cherry wood and blue carpeting. There was even a bar in the corner parlour. And then I knew it’d be perfect for Domi to entertain and have get togethers and genuinely enjoy his life. I found myself really wanting the house and feeling that pang of envy / admiration for folks that have their own thing that way and subsequently brushed it off as I always do, knowing I’ll have mine – it’ll just take a little more work and I’ll have what I always wanted.

We get back down to the garden parlour and she laments to us (Earl and I) how she’d just like to get rid of the house. She doesn’t want to deal with agents and real estate brokers. So I ask her, what’s the going rate for the house. And her eyes light up. “Victoria? you’d want the house?” And I say, “Well, who wouldn’t? It’s gorgeous… but who can afford it?” And she begins to smile and muse in her chair like she just hit the jackpot. “Victoria – if you want this house, I’ll meet you at your price point. You name it… it’s yours!” Taken aback I dismiss this as a joke and shake my head. It’s impossible that such a deal could be presented to me so casually. She stands up and sticks her hand out, “I mean it, Victoria. It would give me no greater pleasure than to have you be the recipient of this house.” I stand up and we negotiation (Mostly her telling me) that she’ll sell me this expansive house for $5000. And I can’t believe it. Tentatively she says, “we just have to go to the will reading tomorrow and all will be solidified.” I try to hold back my hopes but in my mind I’m making plans for every room already. A house… one of my very own…

The will reading takes place in the blink of an eye and in it, my friends father decrees that the house shall be left to be divided amongst all the siblings. Citing how many years of memories took place… all the bickering and backstabbing that took place in the house should also be the demise of the house. “Good riddance,” he says, “to you all and your argumentative natures. Have one last great fight on me.” Almost instantaneously, all 10 siblings get up and start arguing. Sitting there with Earl and Dominic, I shake my head and say “There will be no resolution of this today or anytime in the near future. Our search continues…” And we stand up and walk out of the door past the flailing arms and hands on hips and elevated voices.

And I wake up with this song in my head.

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