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Saturday, Jul. 17, 2004 / 7:06 p.m. ~I Had a Flintstones House~ Sometimes I look in my closet and hope I'll see new clothes, or find some clothes I'd forgotten I have. And sometimes I open the refrigerator expecting to see some food I forgot was there, some jar of something, or I'll open a drawer and there will be some fruit I forgot about, and it's still good, it hasn't gone bad yet. And sometimes I look in the mirror hoping to see a different face, or one I'm not so tired of looking at. Like looking through all the channels on the digital cable, knowing there must be something worth watching on, then going through the whole list again, because maybe I just missed it. Thinking I've missed something, I just forgot about it, or I didn't quite look hard enough. It's there, I just can't see it anymore. But then I realize it's all the same and nothing will change unless I make it change. I have to do it, or it won't happen, nothing gets done at all unless I do it. I still expect magic, I still hope for what can't happen on its own, for things to appear, for my face to change, to be like it once was, or maybe simply not to look so old. I want to stop dreaming I'm moving. I want to stop dreaming I'm settling in someplace new, and there's not enough room, or there's too much room. This morning's dream involved a room that wasn't as big as what I have now, and I stopped and wished I'd never moved. It was a Flintstones house, it was a Bedrock architectural design, but the rooms were small. And one, in the basement, would be where I would show porn movies on a big screen. I lay on the floor in front of the screen imagining it, the screen blank, my imagination vivid enough to turn me on. Then there were too many pieces of furniture, and they wouldn't fit, no matter how they were arranged. Suddenly it was my mother arranging books in a bookcase in my room, but it was a bookcase that didn't belong there and I had to find a way to tell her it was all wrong, and when I looked around it was all too small. The neighbors were all old and divorced and lonely. The houses were all cedar contemporary, oddly shaped geometric shaped windows that were on houses that were really in a neighborhood where I once lived, where I once really lived. But my new house was made of fake big rocks, it was the Flintstone house. Everything will be okay, life keeps going, it just always keeps right on going really, no matter what. Cost of the War in Iraq
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