This morning, I woke from a dream in which a woman I was seeing said she was going to have lunch with friends in Philly. They changed plans and moved lunch to Sausalito and were then going to see a band I like who was playing a small outside venue there. It was late day or early evening – dusky time. I had been out walking or running on trails for hours, and the text messages, which had been sent earlier in the day, just came through. As it happened, my walk took me through Sausalito. I think she knew this, and I was bummed that I hadn’t been invited. One text was a short video of the band. Then something along the lines of “Seeing Chuck Prophet in Sausalito. Having an A+ ripper of a time. Be home around 9.” My walk took me past the music venue, I was tempted to stop. I saw her with her friends. I was worried she’d see me and think I was checking up on her. I continued walking home. I woke up anticipating an argument.
Of course none of it made sense. I’m not seeing anyone. The woman vaguely looked like an ex. Philadelphia is on the other coast, and unless you’re part of the one percent wealth crowd, you can’t change lunch plans and decide to hang in Sausalito. The path I was walking looked like the trails I hike on Mt. Tam and nothing like Sausalito – which, while doable, is a long walk from where I live (I’ve only done it once or twice). The band is playing in the area two weeks from now, but here in the city and I won’t be around to see them. I’m a little bummed about that.
In the overcast dawn with the dream receding, I was productive. Folded laundry, did the dishes, then, perhaps fueled by productivity, sat on the sofa reading too quickly without the appropriate attention. Eating poem after poem without really tasting anything. At times, my mind was elsewhere: some work thing or another; a short essay about small acts of kindness in terrible times that made me wonder what the last kind thing I’ve done was and also made me think that I’ve grown selfish these last few years; the walk I’d like to take when I’m done with my first cup of coffee; my upcoming trip back east; the days of rain that are on the way; a different work thing. Despite not paying terribly close attention to the poems I was consuming, some lines I underlined read, “Persuasion is an art that you must first / perform quietly for yourself.” Other lines were about how noticing things takes up a lot of time and requires a fair amount of drinking and staring out windows. Maybe I’m on the right path.
The walk was short. It’s chilly out and I didn’t want to feel the biting wind by the Bay. Maybe I’ll do a longer walk later, stop at a bookstore for some Christmas shopping, maybe check out the illuminated art being projected on the buildings downtown. It’s been a jumble of a morning – will probably be a jumble of a day.