I had a dream early this morning, the themes of which are casting a pall over the beginning of my new day. In one part of the dream, I was stepping forward to take responsibility for a typo in a Powerpoint presentation that caused my supervisor great upset. He was ready to blame it on a young man who was working as an intern under my watch. I had to say, “no, it was my fault. I saw the typo and I let it slide. Blame me.”
At that point, I don’t know what happened next. The dream melded into the depths of consciousness and when it arose out again, I was with my family as we were in the mid-1970s. My mom, my dad, my sister, and me. There were also four other people with us whom I cannot identify except to say that they were also (apparently) family members of some extended nature. One was a small girl of about six years old. We were preparing to go on a car trip and six people loaded into the first car, leaving my sister and I outside the vehicle. I said, “hey, you guys, there is nowhere for me and Illia to sit.”
My dad was in the driver’s seat. He said, “you girls go ahead and take the other car. We’ll meet you there.” Now, in the mid-1970s, I was only just barely old enough to drive. But I knew what I had to do. Go find “the other car” and drive it. The last image of the dream was looking back at my dad in the car. He looked confident that I could handle what was coming. I had my hands on my sister’s shoulders. We would go on our own.
After I woke up and had some coffee this morning, I sat on my couch and cried. I hesitated to write this post, because I notice that when I am compelled to post here, it is either to complain, worry, or grieve. I fear that this could get a bit tiresome for you, dear reader.
I am aware that I spent one part of my day yesterday trying to make arrangements for things having to do with the sale of Georg’s art work so that we can finally complete the probate process and free the estate of the debts it owes. This has proven to be a very complex endeavor. The rest of the day, I reviewed my stalled novel. I am quite sure there are important, universal dilemmas I am meant to talk about through the lives of my characters. I just don’t know how to do that yet.
I suppose the only way to do it (on all fronts: the novel and the estate) is to simply keep trying. As my dream indicated to me, if I make a mistake, I can own up to it. I can take responsibility for the things in my life. Meanwhile, Georg might be in a different car now, but he is still the driver of his own adventure, as I am of mine. And, he is watching. At least, that is how it feels to me.