FAST
Cindy Maddera
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The other night I had a dream where I was HUGE pregnant. Like I could have that baby at any moment pregnant. I remember looking down over my expansive belly and barely being able to see the tips of my toes. I was that pregnant. A group of us were wandering around a department store. I know my Mom was there and maybe my sister-in-law. I don’t really remember who was present, but it was suggested at one point that we all go swimming. “I don’t have a swimsuit.” I said. Then Mom said that I should just buy one and I was appalled at the idea of buying a new swimsuit to fit this engorged belly. “There’s no way I’m spending money on a new swimsuit I will only wear one time. I’d rather swim naked with my white round belly gleaming like a full moon.” Then I woke up. I have no other recollections of the dream other the heaviness I would expect to feel if I were huge pregnant.
I’m about to birth something I don’t want to spend any money on.
It might have to do with how I will probably be working from home by the end of Friday.
It could also just be a commentary about my genetic disposition of money spending.
Some time, way back in the Fall, Michael and I were driving down State Line when we passed a really nice rake just laying by the side of the road. “Did you see that?!? That was a really nice rake. We should go back and get it!” These words that sounded exactly my dad speaking just poured so easily from my lips. Michael looked at me sideways and said “You’re kidding right? We’re not going back for that rake.” I laughed and said “Of course I’m kidding.” Except I kind of wasn’t. Months have passed since this incident and I still have regrets about not going back for that rake on the side of the road. I can clearly see my Dad shaking his head in disappointment. “Oh Cindy. You just left that perfectly good rake on the side of the road.” The three of us were packed into the truck on Sunday. We had moved some furniture for JP and he’d given us his chicken coop, which we’re going to modify for our chickens. It’s not quite big enough to fit all four, but we got ideas. They are good ideas. Michael turned the truck onto the onramp for the highway and I noticed one of those gas station squeegees. “Hey! There was a gas station squeegee laying on the side of the road back there!” I practically yelled over the Cabbage’s head. Michael just shook his head and said “I am not stopping to pick up that gas station squeegee.” I waved it off and said “Oh, I didn’t expect you to stop. I was just noticing.”
But in one tiny corner of my heart, I kind of expected him to stop.
I can’t help it. It is in my genetic code from BOTH parents. Ask my mom why she keeps a small shovel in the back of her car. It is not for burying random bodies. It is for digging up interesting (weeds) plants that she sees on the side of the road. My Dad came home from work one time with a six pack of beer. This sounds like a normal sentence to most people, but my Dad never bought beer. There was never any alcohol in my parents house until us kids were old enough to bring it. I remember asking Dad in a very teenager snarky tone “Where did you get that beer?” Dad shrugged and said that he found in the parking lot of the grocery store. He found an unopened six pack of beer in the parking lot. I just shrugged and said “weird” and totally believed him. He said he was going to make biscuits with it. I am forty four years old and I know this is the equivalent to Tom’s “My hamburger flew out the window” story, but I am still 98% sure that Dad found that six pack in the parking lot.
I know you’re surprised to read about my urge to stop and pick up random junk off the side of the road considering I am known for constantly purging things from our home. My genetic coding has forced me to become this amalgamation of a human who kind of wants trash but also wants it far far away. We are at level 2 here at work and when they make the decision (probably Friday) to move us to level 3, I will be forced to work from home. I have a feeling that I will be doing a lot of moving of the trash far far away while I am home for the next unforeseeable future. This is either going to be a great opportunity for practicing Swedish death cleaning or day drinking.
Probably both.
* The title does not match the content. I started to write about intermittent fasting but decided that no one wanted to hear about me starving myself for sixteen hours a day. I was too lazy to change the title. Interpret.