Today was a hopeless mishmash of crystal ball gazing and warnings against divination, soothsaying, palm reading and other forms of Black Magic. It started in church, where the sermon was about Jacob’s ladder, or rather, the dream Jacob had of the ladder. We discussed dreams and how dreams are used in the Bible, who interprets them, and the dangers of erroneous interpretations of dreams.
I had a dream. I didn’t offer mine up for interpretation, 1) because a sermon is not a two way discussion but a lesson and 2) my dream took place in a sex store. Yes, it did. I was in a sex shop with Mr. P., right next to the fake “peeps” and “fleshlights,” arguing about our wedding. He was talking about some wedding he went to or heard about where the people built their own domes on the church and afterwards they had steak and blah blah blah. “I don’t want chicken or fish; why can’t we have steak. They had steak at their wedding.” “We can have steak, too. We can put murals on the walls. Whatever. What does this have to do with anything? Why are we talking about this?” Never got the answer to that question. All of a sudden we were at my aunt’s house. But of course it wasn’t her house. It looked like a mansion. My grandmother, much younger and lighter skinned with green eyes, kept telling me to stop cursing, and for some unknown reason I kept saying “hell” (the offending curse word) in sentences such as “Where the hell is Mr. Perfect”, and she started slapping me and shaking me like a crazy woman. I had the impression we were planning this aforementioned wedding, but I can’t say how I know that, that was just the feeling, even though this wedding wasn’t mentioned.
Later in the day while we hung around doing nothing, Mr. Perfect and I had one of our oft revisited discussions about marriages and why you can’t just up and get married and all the things that had to be considered. I must have put forward a hundred hypotheticals, some of which he answered even though they were rhetorical. How would we handle money? Would we keep our individual phone plans or get a family share? What’s appropriate discipline for the kids/ how are we raising children/ are we having children? What contraception are we going with? What would be the agreed upon nookie commandments? You know, the serious questions people sometimes don’t ask because they assume “love conquers all.” Through all of this, I kinda got a glimpse of what married life with Mr. P. could be like. Hmm…something to think about.
As tempted as I would be to ask someone for a crystal ball, palm reading, tarot reading, whatever, to know whether or not I get married, who the incredibly lucky man is, how long I have to wait, whether I will have children, or if I die alone and my cats begin to eat me and no one calls the police except the neighbor who hasn’t seen me pottering around in the garden and smells a foul order coming from my house, I won’t do it. There are some things, to me, that just have to happen. In their own way, in their own time, in their own order. Any foreknowledge, other than woman’s intuition, would take the fun, and possibly the wisdom of the journey, out of it. If you take life one step at a time, eventually you’ll look over your shoulder and wonder how in the world you managed to make it this far, so far you can’t even see where you came from anymore.
Who knows? Maybe my dreams are telling me something. As the minister preached (and provided scripture for), the one who has the dream is not usually the one who interprets it (Genesis 38-40…ish…where Joseph interprets the dreams of the baker and the butler in jail and then the pharaoh’s dreams), so it’s not for me to say what it signifies. Maybe me and Mr. P. will be engaged and having the age old debate of chicken or fish (or steak). I doubt it will be in the aisles of a sex shop, but maybe that’s just my anticipation of a wedding night, lol? Maybe my grandmother will find something to go off the deep end about and shake me silly (even though I don’t curse, and even if I did I especially wouldn’t around an elder…but I’m sure she can find plenty of other reasons to shake me silly). Maybe I’ll have a mansion. I don’t know, but isn’t it enough sometimes just to dream (and speculate?)