Sometimes I close my eyes and I dream.
Jul. 28th, 2004 09:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
judecorpSometimes I close my eyes and I dream. I'm working some Big Gay Job somewhere, and Jen is off making decent money interacting with people in a way that she loves. We're able to squirrel some money away, spend time together, and things move on a pretty even keel. We pay off her credit card. I sit on a Board of Directors somewhere, and we engage in some sort of volunteer project together. She paints, occasionally selling something, and maybe teaches a class somewhere. We're content.
She gets pregnant, we work things out so that I can work less hours. Eventually we have a baby. We also become foster parents. Our family grows. We adopt. We have a home, a yard, a dog that irritates our cats. We interview preschools and host playgroups. I run a small child care center out of the home, perhaps, in the interim. We take family vacations in the car, driving to sentimental destinations like Rehoboth Beach. We get older, attending school plays, art shows, dance recitals, awards nights, sports games. No one stares. Our hallway is full of photographs and blue ribbons. We celebrate our 15th anniversary, our 20th, our 40th. We grow older, continuing to volunteer while also expanding our horizons on trips to foreign countries. We're 65 and we take ballroom dancing classes.
Sometimes I close my eyes and I dream. And then I open them again, and I try so hard to believe that it's possible, that it can happen, that it will happen. I can see it all so clearly, yet it's clearly so out of reach. It's a one-way mirror and I don't know if the dream even knows I'm watching, waiting. I'm not sure that it will ever know.
She gets pregnant, we work things out so that I can work less hours. Eventually we have a baby. We also become foster parents. Our family grows. We adopt. We have a home, a yard, a dog that irritates our cats. We interview preschools and host playgroups. I run a small child care center out of the home, perhaps, in the interim. We take family vacations in the car, driving to sentimental destinations like Rehoboth Beach. We get older, attending school plays, art shows, dance recitals, awards nights, sports games. No one stares. Our hallway is full of photographs and blue ribbons. We celebrate our 15th anniversary, our 20th, our 40th. We grow older, continuing to volunteer while also expanding our horizons on trips to foreign countries. We're 65 and we take ballroom dancing classes.
Sometimes I close my eyes and I dream. And then I open them again, and I try so hard to believe that it's possible, that it can happen, that it will happen. I can see it all so clearly, yet it's clearly so out of reach. It's a one-way mirror and I don't know if the dream even knows I'm watching, waiting. I'm not sure that it will ever know.
