I had the worst dream last night. Just remembered and I don't want to put it up on lj. It's not that kind of dream. It was so real. Usually if I have a job in a dream it's an older job or a job that is really at my old elementary school, or a job I've never had. Not my actual job. Which I had in this dream. And the dream took place last night. It was Thursday night and I knew I wouldn't have to go to work the next day, which is true.
I couldn't sleep. So I wandered over to work, which was in the same mall. The store layout was the same, my ALARM CODE was the same, the only difference was that we sold books. That was the reason I went to work, because I wanted to read. So I started reading, and the phone rang. I thought it was going to be the alarm company calling to ask why I'd turned off the alarm at 4am. But it was my mom. And like you do when you get called in the middle of the night, I panicked. I realized I'd turned my cell phone off before >play last night and that I hadn't turned it back on.
My mom called me at work in the middle of the night and said: "J'ai de très mauvaises nouvelles."
And I knew that if she said what she was about to say in the dream I would probably go fucking insane, so I made myself wake up. Not that it made it any easier, because I knew what she was about to say. That my dad's cancer had come back, was generalized, and that he didn't have long to live.
That's how my aunt died. They thought she was fine for two years after they removed her cancer, then all of a sudden she got sick again, and within two weeks she died.
And my friends and I were talking about my prof"s dog recently. My parents' dog died this summer after having a tumour removed. His dog now has many, many tumours that he's having removed, and we were talking about how "they" say that once you find a tumour on your dog you should have it put to sleep, because they always die and it's always painful for them.
And my new assignment is an autumnal poem, and in the tradition of autumn poems I have to think about getting older and dying. I thought I might write about my parents getting older, kind of force myself to confront that, and see what happened, force myself to grow or learn or something. Now I'm not sure what I should do. Is this a sign that I really should confront the idea of my dad dying (my mom I confronted long ago, which is why our relationship is so strange), or is it a sign that I should abandon the pursuit and write about fucking Jack-o-lanterns?
Posted by Katherine at 12:29 PM
© Katherine Maheux, 2003.