Am I ready?
Several things have been cooking in the back of my head lately. A story popped into my head the other morning. In working it out I stumbled where I always stumble, and that’s in human nature.
In answering a character’s question, “What’s my motive?” all I can rely upon is my own experience and that sends me off rummaging around the dustbin in my head, or on what other’s might call, a journey of introspection.
Then there was the almost-missed anniversary.
There’s also the issue of “Am I ready?” A useful tool I’ve found in recovery is to ask every so often, “If I were to die this instant, am I ready?” This is not, by the way, to be confused with being suicidal. I don’t want to die, but if it were to happen, are the important things taken care of?
It helps to put things in perspective. I don’t worry about if the dishes are done (they never are), the bills are paid (wouldn’t be a problem any more) or if I’m wearing clean underwear (I don’t own any and as I understand it, you soil them anyway).
Instead, I concern myself with, “Does [name of person] know how much I love them?” and “Did I remember to apologize for [whatever]?” and “Who do I owe thank-you’s to?” And the biggie, “Have I learned everything I’m supposed to in this go ‘round?” Stuff like that.
All I can figure is that these things and others were the locus from which dreamland sent me to a bizarre place last night. I was sent back to the 70s with all my memories intact and allowed to start over from there.
After recovering from the shock of discovering I was wearing a digital watch (blue with orange numbers—the horror!) I set about thinking about what I should do with this situation.
As dreams are prone to be, it was a mixed bag.
- I’m going to grow my hair longer and not cut it when Reagan is elected.
- Can I somehow fake high blood-pressure so I can get a prescription for Minoxidil years in advance?
- I know which will be the good clubs and restaurants
- I know which stocks to buy and when
- I’m going to persue the guys I’m interested in rather than being the wallflower the losers pick up on the way out.
- I know who is going to die of AIDS, but not what to do about it.
- Eeek! I know who’s going to end up in AA (Would that break their anonymity to talk about that years in advance?)
- I don’t know what to do until the good anti-depressants and ADD drugs hit the market.
- I don’t know what to do for a living
- Should I move this time? Or at least travel?
I woke up tsk, tsking myself over stupid shit like digital watches, hair, clubs, restaurants and cute guys (well maybe that one’s not so stupid.)
If I’m not ready to go back to the 70s, then maybe I’m not ready to go anywhere else for the moment.
