I knew I was still dreaming before my eyes fluttered awake this morning, so I tried not to move.
I laid still in the mist, watching my dream, hoping to soak it in before morning came.
But dawn reminded me that I was remembering more than dreaming.
It was a warm kind of remembering, and all circle-ey around me, the way hot chocolate warms my hands while it swirls around in my giant mug.
Dinner last night dances around me, and I want to see everything again, hear everything again.
I want to remember all of it. I want to put this gallery opening on pause, so that I can walk around to see all there is to see, past the ropes to see all the details, while still having enough time (and sacred silence) to sit and sketch a while.
In the background is sappy elevator music, the kind you don’t notice in a store until you realize you know the song, and maybe secretly it’s your favorite, even though your friends would roll their eyes.
Except when you are only remembering, no one is around to see you burst into song and start dancing.
When you are remembering, no one knows if you sit up close and unabashedly stare.
My friends have already sent me messages not to analyze, and just let it be.
I tell them there is nothing to analyze, because it was lovely.
I don’t tell them I am already in the museum, without waiting for the ticket box to open, tip-toe-ing across the marble floors in my favorite fuzzy socks.
No one can yell, “Stop!” if you haven’t put on your cochlear implants yet.
That was the only hard thing at dinner last night: so many people were there and we were all having so much fun, that it got too loud and too many people talking at once, so I couldn’t understand anything. Normally I would not be shy, and just say “Hey! People! You have to take turns! I can only hear one sound at a time!”, except last night was so cozy warm and comfy, that I just settled in to watch and feel and notice, all while trying hard not to be caught watching, feeling, or noticing.
They said I missed my exit, that I was going to be escorted out, but that I missed the cue and botched it all up and missed my chance. Classic Emily moment, classic fail. I really just didn’t know. By that time I couldn’t breathe, much less process anything, as if any intelligence I once held had melted away sometime during the soup course. I am really not very good at this, and very much out of practice.
It is in this very moment that my phone lights up again, with a text from my friend who says, “I know you are analyzing. Stop it. Just let it be.”
I know I am caught past the ropes, and so move back to the exhibit bench where I am supposed to be sitting quietly full of decorum.
I try to sit there politely at least, but feel fidgety and work very hard at sorting out my sketch pencils.
Nothing gets drawn, and I stare out the window, long enough that hours pass, long enough that pre-dawn dreaming turns into time-to-go-to-work.
On this Monday morning, Tuesday feels like a long time away.