Sometimes, in the darkness of the night that seems to hold everything still, I can see the field of dreams I once rested my head upon. It doesn’t always happen, but when it does It’s like being 17 again. Not that I really want to be 17 again, because frankly once was enough. But the magic of having a whole field of dreams resting at your feet just waiting for you to find them…that calls me back sometimes.
And sometimes in the darkness of the night so inky black that you cannot see your hand before your face, Beloved’s voice will come from what seems like a million miles away even though he is right there beside me. In those moments, where he seems so far and is so close, he will whisper his fears of not having enough or not being enough. As if in the dark, where no one can see our faces, it becomes okay to admit to these doubts. During the day we dare not speak them for isn’t the truth visible anyway? The inadequacies, the poverty and the deficiencies are all out in the open for the light to hit them if we seek them. But at night, after a day of pretending not to see, after a day of being too busy to remember what was completed and what wasn’t, well then the words he cannot say during the day find form.
And sometimes, in those moments as the sun is just coming up, bathing the room in a ghostly pale light I will ask him to come with me, to explore that field of dreams that once was so bright and so possible. He never answers because I have yet to ask him when he is awake. What if he says yes, what if he discovers that my field of dreams is really just a sad illusion painted over with the hopes of teenage naivety?
It’s in all these moments, before I wake up to bright lights and sparkling blue eyes that I wonder if he would just pack it all in on a whim and head off to wherever a finger lands on a map. I wonder if he will ever get tired of things and go back to his field of dreams. If he realizes that not having enough is more than I could ever ask for and more than I’d ever need.
I have this problem, a small thing really, but life altering all the same. You see I want to be there for the people in my life, even if that means I get pulled into a million different directions. Even if it means being pulled between two countries.
Normally when I feel stretched beyond belief, when I feel too many demands are being placed on me all at once, I snap. I say no, I get short . I run away to my own space. But sometimes you can’t do that because you are too worn out and tired to even think of doing any of it. So you just stay there, like roadkill and hope that somehow you catch a wave of passing energy, even if it’s just enough to say no once.
friends I’m tired of feeling like roadkill. Sure I know I’m mostly to blame for it myself. I know I try to be everything to everyone. I dont want to let anyone down or disappoint someone. So I do it all, I burn the candle at both ends, because that’s what it takes. And I try to snap up and steal energy as I go. Of course the reality is that I run at a deficit most of the time.
Do I have to do this? No, except I feel like I need to be there or helping out. I feel compelled to do too much and not because people are asking me to. And when people do ask, they always ask if it’s okay or assure men to okay if I need to back out.
Some of my logic, if you will, is that there are so many times that lupus robs me of this that when I can do I it all. Is this wise? No. Is this what most people do? Heavens I hope not because roadkill is no fun. But it’s where I go to because when I feel good, I forget there is a crash he just around the corner.
As a joke, a few years back, a friend got me a coffee cup. A large coffee cup. A huge coffee cup. A ridiculous coffee cup. It was a joke, but I use it.
The cup holds three cups of liquid and well I’m not ashamed to say this, I’m a bit disgusted as I admit that I’ve had been known to fill that cup with coffee, drink it and then seek out a refill. It’s a bit obscene really, the amount of coffee I will drink, if given the right receptacle.
Surprisingly I do not do this with huge plates or anything else. I won’t even consume that much of any other liquid in that cup. Just coffee.
Beloved staged an intervention of sorts, but keeping me from coffee is like trying to keep a bull from a red cape. Not going to happen. Let’s just gloss over whether the bull sees the color red or if any color will make the bull charge. Must stick with the gist of this folks.
After the failed intervention, he “borrowed” the cup and accidentally packed it away. But it’s not something I could forget about. And it wouldn’t be the first of things for me to seek, a quest of sorts. Eventually he gave up and brought the cup back out. And I was a happy girl again. Well sort of.
See the look of displeasure on Beloved’s face made me want to not consume as much. So I set the cup aside and worked on controlling the amount of coffee I needed. Getting down two a modest cup and a half a day. Which still a decent amount really, but in that cup it looked pathetic, sad and lonely.
So now I only use that cup when I know I’m going to be at my desk for a long period of time and need the coffee. Is this a compromise? Maybe. It’s the best I can do right now because while I do so love him, I adore my coffee and this cup. There has to be room for it all in my life!