Fulfillment

For the past few nights, M has been coming to bed early and making me set the timer on the TV to 10 minutes. This is one of those “compromises” you may have heard about. I can’t sleep without the TV on – he cant sleep with the TV on. So therein, lies the eternal struggle to meet somewhere in the middle. A lot of times, I end up laying in bed with my mind wandering to places, wide awake, long past the ten minute timer, listening to M breathe next to me. And I snuggle up to him and wiggle my toes against his shins and I know that even if he’s half asleep, he’ll do it back. And it makes me happy. And thankful. Despite our fights our compromises our lives together with all the backbreaking pain and joy over a full 6 years.

And what I’ve noticed is that a lot of what you think about right before you go to bed can say a lot about you. It terms of what you think in your life - what you find fulfilling or scary or exciting.

I don’t ever think about getting married. Not once have I pictured a wedding dress or flowers or location. I’ve not thought about anything besides not having a wedding because I could never make it what I wanted simply because I don’t know what I want. And it’s just easier to not have one than to think about all the costly details for one short day that I’ve heard flies by so quickly that you barely get to enjoy it. Details like how I have no one to walk me down the aisle. How I know that I would likely never do it twice.

But I do think about the moment. The moment he would get down on one knee. And that vision isn’t strong or entirely entertaining. It’s more like a passing thought. And I confess, I’ve never been able to picture a scene of it actually happening. Only the ring. And even that changes in style in shape.

I don’t truly engage the thought of children. I picture one small girl that’s adorable in her little feet pajamas and I think about how I’d tell her the truth about anything that she wanted to know. I wouldn’t sugarcoat life or make it seem terrible. I’d take her to my friend’s houses where they have children and they could play. Sometimes, but rarely, it’s a boy and he’s a teenager that gets into so much trouble that the best I can do is say, Wait til your father gets home. And its always M I’m referring to and he always knows what to do to get him back in line.

Sometimes I think about a house. But even then, its features are nebulous at best. I can tell you that it’s not big, but has a huge yard. It’s cozy and bright. And sometimes I lay outside on a blanket in perfect June weather with hardly anything on and the neighbors complain because someone’s husband is watching. M always comes home and sometimes we make love. Sometimes, I cook dinner.

Mostly, I think about clothes. I think about what I’m going to pull out of the closet and wear the next morning to work. I try on different outfits in my head and put things together in new ways even though I know that I’ll wake up and be too cold to be fashion forward. I’ll throw on jeans and any sweater and barely have enough time to do my eyeliner.

But I do think about fashion. A lot. And being pretty and skinny which almost always leads me to think about how I’m going to be 30 one day and then 32 and then 36 and then 40. How one day, I wont be the pretty girl in the room. How I’ll be the older woman, that no longer has her life ahead of her because its in the past. How all we really have is our health in this life because without it, nothing else really matters. You can’t do anything without your health and wits about you.

I think about meeting someone at a bar, an airport, a work conference. It’s usually a handful of people from my past that I was never able to make things right. I think about what it would be like to have them want me. To have them follow me and not take no for an answer and say things like, “I want to have you up against a wall” when, deep down, I know the secret: I have a boyfriend and he’s home in bed and I’ll never leave him for you.

Sometimes I think about being outside and seeing a black bear. Or a moose. And I think about how to best find one without sneaking up on it and spooking it. I think about how amazing life would be to travel. Even though I hate to travel. The airports, the costs, the struggle of waking up tired but want to see everything in 24 hours. But the beauty of other places always prevails. The comparison of one place to another, London to Phoenix. San Francisco even to Napa Valley. The thought passes through my head that my best friend travels for a living and I don’t make the effort that I should to see her and its hard to call her because these are the things I feel and think but when we talk I only want to hear about her. And I have to write today because she’s so sick of clicking on my blog and seeing that same damn lasagna story.

And I always take a few moments to panic about money. A short panic about how much gas is or will be. How to save money for a house while trying to buy things I’ll never be able to buy once I have a house. How anything on my truck can fail at any moment and kill me or my dog inside. How the glaciers are melting and poachers are killing brown bears in Russia for their gallbladders. How my health is all that matters. Or how those I depend on around me and love could fail. Have failed. Will continue to fail. As I fail. At times. Because it’s human. And it’s human to pick yourself up again and continue on. Continue to dream. To fantasize even though your thoughts may not be perfect. Or fulfilling as defined by a book or show or someone else’s standards.

I’m a realist.

Even in fantasy, I hold back.

Even in the fading moments of my day, I think about the painful side of this world as much, if not more, than the joyful side. The dark TV-less bedroom quiet, just makes it so easy.