You're Standing in Your Dream

So I came back from a trail ride today with my shrink friend (too bad I'm not bulimic, which is her specialty, I could be riding AND getting therapy), and it was a great ride, out in the mountains, by the lake, if you squint you could pretend you were in Scotland, it was foggy. Or I'm foggy, because I've been staying up too late working on a script.

Anyway, after the ride a friend called and I got to turn a bucket upside down and sit in the warm barn area and talk on the phone to my friend because I didn't want to go back in the house. And I'm talking about algebra, and how it's unfair to teach algebra to 7th graders who aren't ready for algebra cause it makes alot of yelling at 9 at night, to a basically sweet kid, and my kid is smart, it's just hard to do algebra when you've spent all day at school and you really want to watch basketball and you're 12.

And I talked about having 3 kids from Bessie's kindergarten sticking their heads in my car window the other day, and the kindergarten teacher pulls up on the other side (as she leaves the school) and she says "those are the kids that had lice, by the way," of course.

And it looks like I have to do zombie make up in the middle of the talent show Friday because my 11 year old is going to be a zombie in a Michael Jackson song (the only way I can recommend listening to a Michael Jackson song), she's going to be in like 47 of the 47 talent show dances this year, her last year at the baby school, the close by, close knit, young school where she sprouted her social wings.

I'm thinking about all this, and about 97 year old Poppa who just got back from Vegas with bedraggled Barry, and I'm thinking about the script I'm working on late at night, where the words have started to weave and take off on their own, where there's a spark of beauty coming from a mess, and I have no idea how to support the new ideas, I have to sort of just follow along and see where they go and try not to quit before something really amazing happens.

As I'm thinking, I'm talking on the phone and watching the horse chew hay contentedly, close enough to touch his shiny coat after a nice long trail ride where we were happy together, and I watch the little red hen come in and step directly in the fresh horse poop, it's squeezy green and still warm, and the chicken steps on it like a little soft cushion, digging through it, picking out the pieces she likes of oats that have been through the intestine (I'm serving that for dinner, come over). And I'm thinking, sitting on this bucket is so perfect. Life is so perfect. All waded right into, all watery all around you, algebrazombieschickensdirtoldpeople, it's beautiful, it's funny, it's quiet, if you stop. Just sitting there in the middle of everything. Not getting anywhere, right here is so perfect. Already.

The red hen showed me, you're standing in your dream.