We went to Cirque Berzerk the other night, near Chinatown. I loved it! Very Tim Burton, but more colorful. I don’t think everyone who sees Cirque du Soleil style acrobatics appreciates it like I do, but I was fascinated and was turning my head sideways in awe while I watched the girl hang from the silk fabric and climb around doing the splits high up in the air. My favorite, though, was the guys on the trampoline. We couldn’t take any pics, of course, but we could take photos outside. I walked around with my little Olympus until there was too much dust in the air to use a flash.
I had one of those really vivid dreams last night, the kind where you wake up and can’t believe it was a dream, and you’re still feeling the same emotions that you had during the dream. Usually it’s a dream where I killed someone and can never take that back, and now I am doomed to spend the rest of my life in prison or on the lam. Or else I didn’t graduate high school and I’m going to have to go back and finish school as an adult.
Last night’s dream, though, was worse. I dreamed that I had had a baby back when I was in my late teens, before I moved away from the desert, and I was just now remembering. I went back to Joshua Tree and went to the house she was living in, with her paternal family, and there were a whole bunch of kids. I had to have someone tell me which one was mine, and she looked nothing like me. She was olive-skinned, and had thick eyebrows that almost met in the middle. She was sixteen, but looked fourteen, and was well cared for and living among the whole family on her dad’s side. I was so shocked and ashamed. The kids all looked at me with fresh, friendly faces, but the adults looked at me like I deserved to be looked at. Someone who had a daughter and then forgot to even visit her. I felt so awful, and was sitting there recounting the missed birthdays and Christmases, and also noting that this explained my poochie stomach. How was I ever going to make up for this? I was doomed to spend the rest of my life feeling horrible, and she was doomed to spend the rest of her life recovering from a childhood where she wasn’t cherished and loved by her mommy. All the missed bedtime stories, and Holloweens, and vacations.
I felt that hollowed out feeling for the rest of the morning, even with reality kicking in. I know what this is. These are the death cries of my biological clock, which will someday shut the hell up. I was sad, though, that she wasn’t real. Naturally, as Mother Nature is trying to trick me into producing offspring. Even with my realistic views about all of it, and my confident belief that you can get stuck with a child that you are thoroughly incompatible with. Then you’re really screwed. It seems to me that people get around that fear by resolving to be nothing like their own mother, and then they’ll be guaranteed to never have children who acted like they did. But my mom was the best mother in the whole world, and I could try my hardest every day of my life and still not even come close to being that good of a mom. So I got nothin.
I hope I go back to dreaming about dolphins, like I do most nights.