I had a bad dream. Don’t you hate the ones with people you love, only not acting like the people you love, when everything goes wrong? Mike was mad at me in my dream, and we were surrounded by armed white supremacist guys who I suspected had spit into my drink and would do more given an opportunity.
The dream still swirled in my mind as I stood in the kitchen with two clean plates in my hands. These days, I stack them two at a time. More is too heavy when I’m bending over. Strength is an issue. Bending over is an issue.
Mike walked into the kitchen.
“Doing dishes,” he said. “You’ll have to go lie down for a while afterward. Have you checked your heart rate?”
“It’s doing okay. I have small life goals, a load of dishes, writing, students.”
“I have meetings,” he said.
“Death by meeting. Want some tea? Water’s hot.” I put away two glasses. Endurance is an issue too.
“I have tea waiting in my office. Gotta go meet.” I hugged him. He hugged me back until the dream fell into a film, not quite as real. He shuffled out of the kitchen.
The good news is that my resting heart rate is finally normal, most of the time. That’s great, but I feel like I could sleep for a few weeks. My doctor says I should take lots of naps.
My goals these days are small. My life is small. I finished emptying the dishwasher, made an instant coffee instead of an espresso with extra foam. I haven’t made a real espresso since April.
I took a sip of my instant coffee. It was warm going down. My joys are small too. Now, I’m resting on the couch. I have a big day, two students back-to-back, two emails to write, four pages to edit for a friend. Maybe I can load the dishwasher if I skip cooking and we eat leftovers. Small goals for my new normal.
I have music playing, two cats within reach, and Mike just came upstairs to make some lunch. I have small joys too, small joys that fill me up.
Thank you for listening, jules