I have dreams that are waiting but I'd rather put them off, as perfect and strange as they normally are. The moment I close my burning eyelids (burning because I'm getting a cold) they'll start to rush in, desperate to have their say. The players, orchestra, and backstage crew has everything arranged just so, ready for me to enter the weird and wicked world my subconscious has created just for tonight: glittering eels swimming through seas of magma, polka dot swimsuits worn by beautiful strangers, twenty pairs of hands clasped together on a beach, twenty people singing softly with their eyes closed.
It's a world that I love and that I visit nightly but tonight I'm just not ready. Tonight I'd rather sit here and type and look at the boxes that are starting to be filled with what will travel with us the 4,000+ miles back home. I'd rather feel my legs go numb in this position, read until it finally gets dark at 2 am, and wake up feeling like I'm on vacation. Listen to my husband emerge from his shower and wait for the accompanying smell of his cologne on his wet warm skin. Wake up feeling alive and new. I put off the things that excite me, though. The waiting is the jewel of it all. The perfect, hard little stone that begs to be thrown and skipped in the water. But the best part is waiting to throw it. Watching the sun dance on the water with your arm reared back behind you. Knowing that perfect moment is just moments away. Then you're in it. And it might as well be over.