The radio began to sing. I rolled over, and waited. Not falling back to sleep, I brought my arms up to rub sleep from my eyes, and my jaw dropped in a yawn. And the dream hung as a vague memory in my mind. As I pushed back the sheets, I retraced its time-line with my sleepy brainpower. And the rough edges smoothed, the memories became nearly whole. As whole as dreams can be to those not well-practiced in their recovery.
Recalling a social studies class I had taken in high school with a mild focus on psychology, I remembered the lesson on dreams. The unconscious mind trying to tell the conscious mind something urgent. And so, as I pulled off my pajamas, got dressed and did my hair; I went over the dream with a fine comb of analysis.
Downstairs, the coffee maker beeped. It beeped not for me, for I was not normal. I did not burden myself with the addictions others did. I thought differently. And that was what the dream had told me - not to be another proverbial lemming upon the cliff of life, sending individuality plummeting! I was a person. I was my own person! And so was he.
He always was. Even last night. And he wanted to move to the mountains, away from the desert wasteland of suburban life. I had crossed a bridge for him, and now he was asking for major change. I weighed my heart, the shower was occupied.
The answering machine was flashing '01' incessantly on the counter across the room from the breakfast table. I munched a raisin bagel with cream cheese. And it kept going, '01, '01', '01'...
One. One big decision. One big adventure. And I remained there in contemplation, and the visual from the dream - the mountain towering into the clouds - obscured the delicious taste of the cream cheese. And yet, I was in heaven. Or thought I was. It tasted darn good, but the mountain looked darn better.