I have a problem with recall- people in particular. If I haven't seen someone in a week or more, I can't remember what they looked like. (The exceptions to this rule are my father's hands- something I am incredibly grateful for) I mean, I *know* what they look like- but if I try to conjure up their exact image in my head... it doesn't work. It's more like looking at a stranger through a frosted window in a steamy coffee shop- you might be able to tell what color hair they have, the general shape of their features but the person walking through the front door could be Angelina Jolie... or Jocelyn Wildenstein. It's anyone's guess.
Anywho.
I had last Tuesday off (in exchange for Saturday. Want to tell me who got the better end in that deal?). After laying on the couch watching daytime TV and eating wasabi peas for a couple of hours, I realized I should probably go outside and enjoy the springtime weather, utilize my one day off, seize the day, et cetera.
So I went to IKEA.
Yes, IKEA. I love it there. When I first moved to Minneapolis- a small town, naive girl without a *dime* to her name, I used to go there and wander about fairly often. I'd hop the light rail to the megamall (illegally) and spend hours perusing the showroom. I'd look in each tiny, ikea-ed space and dream about what my new life was going to be like. I had a lot of ideas about what being a 'big-city' girl meant. Nighttime provided the best backdrop for these excursions of mine and I would imagine myself in each 'apartment' with different characters, occupations, and a myriad of those MOMENTS I was so ready for.
It took me a minute on Tuesday, daytime, to realize that the present has always been hard for me. The past- even harder. I peeked into the same displays only to feel... something. It wasn't disappointment; it wasn't sadness. Rather, it was a heavy, steadying weight that seemed to say- 'you can't *do* that anymore, Kell. You can't look to the skies all wide-eyed and innocent, visualizing your life played out in a series of movie-trailers. You've lived in Minneapolis for 3 years now. THIS is your life here. Now.'
Can a woman approaching 30 still wonder about what her life is *going* to be like? Is that an indication that she's not *living* her life? Have I spent all this time making plans and not enough time doing them? God, I dislike *wasting*.
Last night I had a dream. It was a very vivid dream. (Probably induced by the mass quantities of green beer I had been drinking up until said dreaming. Just saying:) I love it when I remember my dreams because in them, I can *see* people. Just like they were standing in front of me. I let my eyes linger and roam- taking in a familiar face that I've forgotten. Even if I haven't seen them in a long time- there they are. Gone, but obviously with me for good.
The content of the dream, the players in the cast- these aren't relevant. The smile they invoked is- the smile that I could feel even in sleep. The big 'hey you' and the re-remembering. The realization there *have* been moments...
Moments better than anything I ever imagined-
standing 3 years ago in IKEA.