Sometimes, it is not enough. Whatever it is, whatever you do, it is not enough. There were times when it seemed the things that filled my life were enough. If my life wasn’t quite how I’d imagined it, it was good enough. It got me by.
I found it easy enough to get out of bed in the morning without being overtaken by some existential dread of the horrors the new day would bring with it. Neither did I, though, jump out of bed as though I was an actor in a breakfast cereal commercial, full of life and eager for the joyous new day to begin.
Usually, the alarm went off and I hit snooze… and, well, I didn’t… snooze that is. I’d lie there waiting, trying to remember my name, who I was, where I lived and why I was getting up. I have very vivid dreams and it takes a while for me to find my way out of them and back to the real world.
Or… it used to….
Then I found myself turning away from the world out there and back to the dream world. The dreams would linger, follow me to the bathroom, tugging, pulling on my arm, beckoning me back to bed.
Then, one morning, I looked up into the bathroom mirror and she was there, standing behind me. I looked into the reflection of her eyes, her faced framed by the long black straight hair, her dark olive skin shining with life, energy and strength.
‘Come back,’ she whispered.
There was no-one there, but I remembered her from my dream. I remembered the things we did there, back in her dream world… and I wanted to go back there, back to her, more than anything.
I decided there and then, standing naked in the bathroom, that if she ever called me back to her world again… then I would go.