Dreaming in the new apartment has been an exhaustive trip across brand new dream scapes largely informed, i believe, by the expansive east-facing window only two feet away from where i rest my head.
This moring I awoke in the earliest hours of dawn. My internal clock is still set to anticipate the droning buzz of that alarm clock -- how many times I've instinctively slammed the broad snooze button -- only for the revelry, painful and nonstop, to summon me again from the ethereal court of Hypnos every seven minutes.
Seven is a mystical number.
But here, in our new room, my dreams have been so very vivid and so bordering onthe worlds of illusion and reality, I've been having difficulty determining where one path ends and where the other begins.
For instance, this morning i dreamed of Angels. Rarely do I dream of Heavenly icons or figures, but in my waking hours Angels, three of them resplendent in billowing white robes, androgynous, beautiful, brilliant metallic, white wings hovered outside the window. they sang in unison and awoke me to the most awe inspiring sunrise I've seen in quite a long, long time.
The sky was overcast, but the low lying bank of clouds, normally ashen grey, were the color of pink cotton candy tinged around the edges with saffron, golden mist. The entire sky appeared to breath as the colors pulsated in that rapid escalation when the glorious sun chases away his sister the moon and her ominous secrets, forgotten during slumber.
And then I fell back into sleep and my dreams took me to a carnival where I was wearing stilts and performing for a cheering crowd. I was decked out in the classical outfit of the Harlequino, yellow and red patches, and my body seemed to glow much like the morning sunlight that filled our bedroom. The jingling of the bells around my ankles turned out to be the alarm clock. I opened my eyes and now the sky was a silver-pale blue. Had I dreamed the warm, pink sky earlier. I felt as though I could have flown into it.
It was time to return to my neatly pressed button on shirt and navy pin-striped suit. A brand new pair of low cut leather Oxfords completely my ensembled. Standing in the elevator at the location of my 9:30 interview I felt as foolish as Harlequino, everyone around my was reporting to their work in jeans and t-shirts. How I envied them.
I had an interview with a high-profile entertainment firm this morning, like seriously a big deal. I have to admit, I initially approached the opportunity with a little skepticism. the job duties would be much of what I was doing at my former position: assisting lawyers in all manner of their professional endeavors, but my ego and my viability as a professional, Executive Assistant have been greatly boosted this past month as I go on more and more interviews and I'm given such positive feedback regarding the clout my past employer affords me in the present job market for someone with my skills. I certainly am not letting any of the compliments go to my head, the job hunt hasn't even begun in earnest (maybe only at 30% max efficiency so far), but for so long I've felt a sense of dread. That idea of status returns; that a lowly Executive Assistant isn't a worthy long term career goal, am I going to be essentially a secretary at 4o? 50?
But then, out on the market and going in with over three years of experience, I'm realizing the same job I did at my former company can land me easily 150% more in base salary (not including overtime and bonus) at a competing firm, a more casual atmosphere, reporting to far less people, and will create an exciting career path in a media or creative firm, exactly what my goals were in saying (a mutual) goodbye.
And I owe so much of that to the most special man in my life, my Bryce.
He hates the public affections, and I'm certainly known for my embarrassing temper tantrums and copious groping and flirting with any manner of bearded gentlemen interested in seeing the early morning sunshine of our former Brooklyn apartment.
But now that my day gig is unpacking boxes and interviewing and emailing potential leads -- that sentimental, old Neil has moseyed his way back into my being. He's a casual guy who tries not to worry so much. He accepts love and, above all else, he trusts in that love. And he accepts his own weaknesses and the weaknesses of the boy who he'd move a mountain for, fuck mountains -- I'd move an entire continent for him.
(Well, once my stamina returns after this weekend's move, of course.)