Category: Dream

Ups, Downs; Downs, Ups

The week has gone by in a blur. I’ve had less energy, yet have stuck to the basic routines. And here we are, arrived at a holiday. Kevin is home from work. So I am working. Yes, I am upstairs in the playroom/office typing away on a new project that I plan to reveal next week when it goes live. Stayed tuned.

This week has seen its ups and downs. And downs and ups.

One item that started up, then plummeted down, (thankfully not literally), was our porch, which we hope to rebuild this summer. It’s been steadily decaying due to water damage, and might make it one more year before falling off the front of our house–might. So we’ve been saving our pennies and gathering quotes from contractors and builders. And in the midst of this planning, my friend N offered an exciting suggestion: while we’re rebuilding the porch, could a tiny home office be built, too? There is a perfect place for it: we have a door that leads off the dining-room onto the side porch, and both door and side-porch are currently underused; wasted access, and wasted space. Would it be possible to create an insulated room right there? I have to confess that I was/am hugely excited, giddy almost, to be entertaining the idea of having a home office — a real writing space, a room of my own. I could imagine it in perfect detail: spare and functional, with white painted wood, tall windows, a wall of bookshelves, and a desk. Simple. Perfect.

My feelings were/are almost covetous. Drooling. Dreaming.

Well, here’s the down. We got our first quote for the job and it was double our budget. And we thought our budget was pretty generous. Did I mention that the quote was just for rebuilding the porch? Nothing to do with adding on said fantasy writing room? We’re not quite back to square one, because quotes can vary wildly; but my home office bubble is suffering serious deflation. And you know, maybe it isn’t my time, yet. I need to earn entry into the perfect writing space. I need to sell more books, more words. (Words for sale! Words for sale!).

Speaking of words for sale, I had a pleasant chat with my agent yesterday. And I have news! My second book, THE JULIET STORIES, will be published earlier than originally anticipated: look for it in stores this coming March (in Canada, that is). Which means that there is exciting work ahead, also sooner than anticipated: editing the manuscript on a micro rather than a macro level; discussing cover design; meeting the kind people at House of Anansi; and planning publicity for the book. Yikes! Yowza! Woot!

But enough of ups into downs and downs into ups. Time to stop typing, stop working, and let this space revert back to a playroom for most of the rest of the weekend. It is a holiday, after all.

President Obama, Are You Getting Enough Sleep?

This is me trying to capture a particular expression that’s been haunting my face recently; not a good one: a pair of verticle frown lines pressed between my eyebrows as I worry about something or other, not even realizing I’m worrying or frowning. Sometimes accompanied by muttering, too.
An Obama dream this morning: President Obama and his chief of staff come into the room, and President Obama sits on a plushy sofa, relaxed, humourous, but clearly exhausted. An aide holds a cellphone to his ear and he has a brief conversation. He tells us that he’s just been kidnapped and released, but that it wasn’t very serious. I say, “President Obama, are you sure you’re getting enough sleep? There are so many people counting on you, and you really need to get your sleep.” He admits he probably isn’t. I’m worried. He shrinks to baby-size, and I put him into a stroller and go to pick up the other children and their many many friends for a giant playdate.
Wake up. Say to Kevin, “Oh, I was having such a great dream.” It’s early morning, CJ is in bed nursing, and he’s feverish. As I describe the dream to Kevin, he starts to laugh: “If you’re dreaming about sleep WHILE you’re sleeping, maybe you need more sleep.”
Oh, yes I do. Can I have a dose of the kind called Beauty, please?
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