Those times – this isn’t the first – when it becomes crystal clear: your most cherished dreams will not come true. Not only will they not come true but no one will feel the slightest need nor have the time to bother with the fact you are not part of the equation. Dispensable, in short. Dispensable, that is, insofar as you were even a glimmer on someone else’s screen.
From this harsh and brutal bit of knowledge, nothing terribly uplifting can follow. Count your blessings if you have a few friends around who will take the time to check out how you’re doing. Add to the blessings anything, anything at all, that keeps you engaged in other people’s lives and projects.
And wait for some of the hurt to subside.
Years ago, some well-meaning idiot told me there was no point in dreaming, because dreams never came true. This struck me as stupid beyond all bearing. I know full well dreams don’t come true. I also know that while you’re dreaming, harsh and brutal truths release their grip, if only for that time.
I don’t know how I’ll end the story. Hopefully, I’ll manage to step back from my personal anxieties and disappointments, and let the characters find their own ways to… well, to go on dreaming when things in real time suggest you should just shut up and tow the prevailing line.
Years ago – I was between six and ten years old – my father’s favorite pastime on Sunday afternoons was to “go on a nowhere”. A nowhere was a drive with no fixed destination. A drive for the pleasure of driving and owing your time to no one.
To those I can’t reach and only wish I could: I’ll go on pretending we’re on a pleasant trip to nowhere. A Sunday drive to the country when even time stands in abeyance.
Coincidence: of last night’s dream of men wearing their wedding finery in a clear reference to a wedding I photographed in Albi once. I’d combined some of those photos with others of pink sand dunes from Mars. Another, similar, Martian view on the web this morning.
Sunday, November 29 2015