I tried a kind of James Joyce's Ulysses approach on this one, only hopefully not as monotonous. The essay spans a time period of about twenty minutes. I tried to document everything I did or thought in that time.
My mind slowly trudges from dream to consciousness as I notice the irritating beep of my alarm. That’s what I get for buying a cheap travel alarm clock from Big Lots. I rub my eyes and weigh the option of going back to sleep for awhile. No can do. The cheap travel alarm clock isn’t accurate enough to wake me up in five more minutes. So I resign myself to stumbling out of my futon and into the kitchen.
I happily discover that the water in my thermos is still hot enough for instant coffee. As I empty the tube of instant coffee-cream-sugar into my mug I remember images from my dreams. I’m wearing red sequins and dancing seductively in the shower. I look out the window of a kitchen in a country house to see lots of construction-- a bypass, perhaps. I talk to Wilma Orlano. I haven’t talked to her for six years, maybe. She’s wearing a puffy, navy blue vest.
My friend brought me two large bunches of grapes last night, so I figured I should start making a dent in them. My fingers stain a deep purple as I attempt to suck the meat from the peel of each grape. Americans don’t have to worry about this. They can eat the peel. Here grape peels are too bitter to eat. But the sweetness of the meat makes up for it. I eat two or three grapes and get frustrated, so I start on my “steamed marble cake.” Only the top of the small tea cake is marbled; the rest is chocolate.
I continue to think about my dreams, as I know I will forget them all in a matter of minutes. Working with a missions organization. Reporting to a mission house and starting orientation. Wondering if I can handle all their strict rules. A football game and party. A father-and-son percussion learning workshop. My uncle Greg is teaching them, although my dream is the only time he will ever be able to play a musical instrument.
I eat my last bite of cake and drain my instant coffee. Most mornings at this point I turn on my computer. My office faces the other apartment building and a neighbor’s house. These neighbors make me tired. Every morning before I wake up they are doing laundry or cleaning the windows or washing out a bucket or something. It seems they are always trying to wash the dirt from some surface, wiping away what the wind and rain have left behind. Maybe they are obsessive-compulsive. Or just neat freaks.
Name: Ruthie Home: Japan About Me: I want to know who God is and what his truth is. I love getting lost in beautiful music and cloudless star-filled skies, especially in the fall. I hate being bored. I like big cities. I want to travel the world. read more
Name: Ruthie
I miss you, and I love hearing about your life. You are so loved.