because

This morning, not unlike many mornings, I found myself wanting to run away, this time to the South Seas with my friend, Eee (Elizabeth.) It’s because I've got an impossible (sometimes) kid, and because I can't run away with Michael because of Calvin, and because Eee mentioned it in her blog post from yesterday and because the idea sounded divine. I figured I'd just hitch a ride on her dream, because I could. We'd both be running away from our frantic mornings which flummox, frustrate, inflame, fret, infuriate and fluster because of mindnumbingly ridiculous—and horrible—reasons.

In said South Seas we'd sip mimosas on pristine beaches. We’d drape ourselves in a pair of sinking chairs yay deep in crystal water lapping at our ankles like the soft mouths of Labradors. We'd spy half-naked bodies as far as the eye could see, like jewels, glistening with sweat and oil and sand. We'd close our eyes to cool cucumber slabs then, with ears perked, listen to the surf and the gulls and the wind and the clink of melting ice. Because we could, we'd read all of our favorite books—without falling asleep—under the dappled shade of palms. We'd talk of love and life and art and music and hurt and absurdity and loss and dreams and of what our children would be without epilepsy. We’d stroll arm in arm clad in long flowing dresses under a moonlit sky where the sand appears like snow under our feet. Because we’d be in the South Seas, we’d sleep in a bungalow with a thatched grass roof and bamboo and banana leaf walls and, just because, there’d be no bugs. We’d wake up thirsty and toast to our husbands and to our children, grasping two large, sweating Bloody Marys in our fists. We’d eat some eggy thing with avocados. And as the dream faded we’d embrace, wondering when we’ll see each other again. Perhaps in another dream, because we’ve never met and may not meet for a long time to come.

Then, back at home, the frenzied fluster would be a little easier to muster, just because we'd dreamed it away.