In Another LIfe

March 1, 2008

I had a fabulous dream this morning. I had gone to Australia to visit a friend (who actually lives in New Zealand, but my unconscious mind obviously neither knows nor cares about the difference between the two). Some huge festival was going on...I mean, street parties, food, music, the whole nine yards. For some reason, I went ahead of the rest of my family. G brought the kids later (yeah right, like that would EVER happen, not to mention involving international flight). I was to meet up with a sort of host family...two brothers who were about my age, and the one had children of his own. Well, wouldn't you know that the both of them were hot as can be. After hanging out with the younger one (didn't I already learn my lesson with younger men?), he leaned close and said, "We are going to kiss now." Just for a split second, the little voice in the back of my brain was feebly insisting, tell him you're married! Show him your ring! Say you can't! It's beneath you! You're better than this. Shut up, little voice.

Oh, I know exactly why my husband kissed that girl on the camping trip. I would so love for someone to pay attention to me in that way, let alone someone hot and with an accent. The loneliness, the lack of interest, the lack of concern...those were nails in that somnolent coffin. I'm in a bad way. I can't possibly ever allow myself to get into that situation. When I was in Mexico, I met a guy named Belisario, and as I drifted off to sleep each night, I liked to ponder where my innocent chats with him would go, if I had let it. I like to think that it is beneath me, but I also know how deliciously real and incredible that kiss was. The excitement of desire, of newness, of all the things left undone...the lack of obstacles and real life. There were no dishes, work, sick children, bills, boredom, selfishness. It was just me and him. G found us in that dark corner right then, and I nonchalantly moved apart from him in a safe amount of time so as not to appear guilty. Or would I? The better part of me wanted G to suspect something, or even to have seen the whole event. I wanted him to see me as a girl who is not an aging soccer mom, but someone who is in fact attractive and desirable to at least some members of the opposite sex. I wanted him to realize that I do have desires, and a desire to be loved-or at least wanted. I wanted him to feel jealous. I wanted him to feel threatened. And yes, a very lowly part of me wanted to say, see how it feels?

Sometimes I feel like that girl from Reality Bites...the one who never wants to have a relationship...the one who only wants first dates and new "loves". That's the good part. Sure, sharing a life with someone is divinely fulfilling at times, how much more fulfilling would a few injections of that euphoria be?

And then I woke up. And he was asleep on the couch.