Isa Mused

I have had many dreams about famous people throughout my life, people like Jacklyn Smith, Richard Dreyfuss, Pres.Bush(Sr.), and Joni Mitchell.  When I dream I am almost always alone without family or friends from my real life.  I am somewhere else, lost in a life lived in my late night brain.

Last night I dreamed I was a fan of Brad Pitt’s and had won some sort of contest where I got to meet him onsite at his latest film in the making.

In real life, I became attracted to Brad Pitt when I, lonely 20 year-old, first saw him in a small bit part in "Thelma and Louise".  Four years later, sitting in a morbid, dark silence with my abusive boyfriend who I was just about to leave, I saw Brad Pitt in the film, "A River Runs Through It" and I was smitten (until the teeny-boppers took him on as a prize) by his strong jaw and small but smooth and angular body and his creative acting skills.

In my dream, Brad gave me some signed trinkets of his which I was unimpressed by, and I did not ogle or stare or swoon, but rather I treated him like I would do anyone else — with respect and openness and a willingness to listen to what his life might be like.  Because of how I treated him, Brad decided to court me.  It did not seem odd.  He sent his mother to talk with me, and we agreed that the ability to know and be oneself was of vital importance.  She seemed to enjoy me.  My baby and husband were not there, they were not born, did not live, did not exist.  I was free to begin dating Mr. Pitt.

Today I ran into a friend in the market.  His relationship/marriage had just failed, and his daughter (same age as mine) swept away to another far-off state where his wife had taken her, only leaving a note for him to read when he came home from work.

My home life is strained.

But not in the night.  In the night, Brad Pitt is my date, and his mother loves me, and Joni Mitchell lives in my house.  I take jet plane rides with Jacklyn Smith and Richard Dreyfuss as they make pastries in the sky.  I do not indulge these fantasies during the day, but what relief they bring at night.

I recently learned that my mother was in her late mid 20’s when her younger
sister, my aunt, moved in with us.  My mother had to take legal custody
of her by becoming a legal guardian.  Their mother took revenge by
tearing up all the pictures of my mother from childhood.

Two nights ago I dreamed I got very stoned and was walking around town going to all the parties — from rich to poor, white to black, I romped all over town meeting friends of all kinds, seeing a lot of beauty and a few beatings, feeling ‘high’ the whole time, numb and unencumbered.

I wake up present and weighted down, but not unhappy.  I do not indulge my fantasies during the day.  But how lucky I am for the peace they bring me at night; the merciful, creative break my mind has developed to rest my deepest bones.

     As a child I forced my self awake from my frequent nightmares (usually about being left alone to be chased by mean men) by suddenly becoming aware I was dreaming, squatting down on my haunches (in the dream, still), closing my eyes and saying, "get me out of this dream get me out of this dream get me out of this dream…" or later when I found out — despite my Atheist upbringing– that supposedly God could help people, "God get me out of this dream, God get me out of this dream…"

     Yesterday morning I was speaking on the phone to my mother and we were just saying good-bye when she said, "So dinner tomorrow?" as if we’d planned it out.  We hadn’t.  But of course, she is my mother and is especially welcome to come by on Mother’s Day.  But there I was in a predicament because I had not planned it out, and with a young toddler and a tired husband in our new, still partially uncleaned and half-unpacked house, and barely enough time to take a shower (ended up not even taking the shower) I was suddenly swept up into the fast-paced, mind-numbing, emotionless world of my mother — having to prepare a special dinner the very next day on top of all my other important tasks, lifting my life up onto the dangerous roller-coaster of the workaholic on this rainy, windy weekend.

     Pizza:  my step-father, mother and husband all agreed.  Unable to tolerate cheese, garlic or onion, and being a special occasion, I opted to pick up the ingredients to make our own fresh pizza.  I put deodorant, make-up and a hat on to disguise my filthiness and went to buy what I needed, listening to a song in the car, "…Help, I have a done it again…I have lost myself…and there’s no one else to blame…"  The grocery store is bright and loud, reminding of my headache and my weariness.  On the way home the song continues,  "…be my friend, hold me, wrap me up, enfold me…"

     There’s a lot more to do than I thought.  I have to make a separate pizza for myself on top of making three other small pizzas and before I know it the guests arrive, the first pizza is done, out, on the table, I’ve sliced it and I’m back in the kitchen doing the other pizzas and watching the baby who is trying to eat white powder off the floor.  Okay, so it’s flour, but it could be any other powder, poisonous or not, so I have to make sure she knows not to just put powder from the floor in her mouth.  I can’t find the oven mitts, everyone is seated at the table with the gorgeous flower arrangement I bought my mother (who is in a rare happy-seeming mood,) and now she wants some dressing for the little salad I made only for her.

     No.   I am too busy.

     "My husband will get it for me," she remarks.  He does.  He finds vinegar and olive oil and douses her salad, making some joke that I tell him I’ll laugh at later upon reflection when I’ve had time to think.  I don’t remember it.

     They are actually asking me for help, not seeing that I couldn’t possibly do another thing.  Overwhelmed, I get my husband’s help to watch the baby and let people help themselves.  I go to the old, sturdy, heavy sink and wash my hands.  Alone in the kitchen, unattached to any emotion or fear and I hear myself saying in my head (though I don’t understand why at the time), "God get me out of this dream, God get me out of this dream…"