A Dream Badly Dreamt

Perhaps, as ideals tend to be, this is an ultimately elusive thought or goal. Perhaps it will always seem close, but after the run up and the dive, and stretching out the right arm, as far as it will go, extending the fingers and clenching tightly, the result will continue to be a handful of fingers. And the lingering feeling will be that next time, the next opportunity that is presented, with a bit more preparation, and desire capable of being summoned from the depths of an unquiet soul at literally seconds notice, to produce an effort outside and above the usual – in short, the best effort ever – it will be possible. It is possible. Run harder, dive farther, risk all. But, perhaps, that’s the weakness in the thinking. It’s a chimera. It will never be. Never be something you can touch and massage and bend and stretch and hold. And the chief reason it can only ever be a flitting shadow at dusk is that night will come and eat it up. It will be bested by blackness every time. The chance will be gone. And will be gone again. Daily. Until the Sun fails to rise and set.

Unrealistic notions can be enjoyable to conjour with. And it could be that misunderstanding how unrealistic they are fuels the flames of fun. Maybe knowing that an event or goal is impossible without an incident close to a miracle doesn’t always ruin the speculation and planning and dreamlike insertion of the self into a scenario. Maybe.

Maybe the fact that an outcome is statistically unlikely can lend an air of fun to speculation about it. Fans spend an illogical amount of time considering what it will be like when their team wins and what it will take to win. Even when the team in question is barely capable of playing whatever the game is. The lonely and the isolated dream about an exciting life or the arrival of a Prince Charming figure, someone or something to take them away from all of this. What we will do with our winnings if we win $20 million in the lottery this week is also a topic for conversation and consideration, despite the fact that statistically not having bough a ticket doesn’t make you much less likely to win a lottery than having one. Statistically no-one is likely to win a lottery.

And what’s wrong with dreaming? Nothing. Things can improve. They won’t necessarily, but they can. If you are pure of heart and harbour no bad intentions and want circumstances to pick up for the right reasons, they might. They also might not. And if they do change, they probably won’t change the way we expected and the change for the better may end up a mixed blessing, and we should approach such a change with our eyes open.

My soul feels a little bit worn out at the moment. Not abused or mistreated or sick – just in need of a rest. And the things I would like to do, the changed life I think about and plan and imagine isn’t so different from my current life. The thought of being famous is anathema, for example. The thought of some degree of wealth is not so bad. But wealth with responsibility, to do more for people who need or will appreciate help will be a key to the new life, when it comes. And the physical circumstances of life currently won’t be so different. Permanent garden fences around permanent garden beds, which the dogs cannot break into, and thus the angst which comes from contemplating what they might have done or maybe about to do, as the weather’s warm and they are feeling frisky, will be put aside, and one small department of my brain will be allowed to relax and take a small vacation, and there will be calm. Laetitia will be in a really impressive job, running things, and that job could be at home at a property or somewhere else in a government department or in some other sort of administrative function somewhere. Either way, we will be somewhere out of the city. And there will be more time to sit in one’s dressing gown, warm, with a book or the paper, and perhaps a small dog or purring pussy cat on one’s lap, reading and being a little bit alone, in a good way, doing one’s own thing, and watching the weather outside the windows. And work too, building and fixing and maintaining. Honest work. And there will be sleeping on the weekends as well. And that will be good …

… This has gone completely out of control. I was trying to write about how nice it would be to have weekend naps, but perhaps, as an adult they aren’t something you should take for granted. Or expect. You can’t do whatever you want to do. Things are expected of you. Live with it. Everybody’s tired. Grow up.

Now it looks like the stuff about some sort of idyllic life in the country is in the same category as “Wouldn’t it be nice if I found that I was the Prince of somewhere?” And it’s not in that category at all.

This can only get more misleading and over the top the longer I go on. So I’ll stop. In a minute. It’s a salutary lesson, possibly, in having a carefully decided topic to interrogate, and then bloody sticking to it. Lesson learned. I hope.

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Published in: on May 9, 2011 at 8:17 pm  Leave a Comment  

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