It Takes a Minute

I woke up the other morning from a dream.  I had been traveling with my sisters in the dream after mom’s death, we were in a hotel and I was cutting threads off of something that I had gotten from mom’s house, but in my commitment to the job, I also cut some of the decorative thingies on a wool traveling rug that I value rather highly.  I was upset about this, separated from my sisters, and trying to find them in this rotten little dark motel.  But no phone.

It took me a minute when I woke up.  I had to go through each of the upsetting pieces – destroying something important from mom; losing my sisters; no phone to solve the problem; my mother’s death – one by one, the way you do after a dream, to sort out that the things you didn’t want were a product of your dreaming mind.  I was doing good.  The blanket is alright.  My sisters are where they belong.  I know where my phone is…

But I got to the question of mom’s state.  You know how you dream you are pregnant and you pat down your belly and count the days backwards and remember when it was you last had sex and it takes some time to settle in that you really aren’t pregnant?  It didn’t work like that this time.  She’s still gone.

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It Takes a Minute

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