I had a dream this morning when I fell back asleep after my usual far-too-early just-for-practice wakeup.
I went to talk to people about work -- trying to drum up work, trying to sell myself, pointing out the merits of my services and cost-effective blah and high-quality blah. I came back, and you were working on this and that, drawing and making pretty pieces of metal and writing, switching between each endeavor quickly, flitting like a bird.
"How was the art museum?" you said.
"Oh, well, this person was truly horrible, and what a bitch, and I'm not really sure if I'll get any work from them, and..."
"Well, yes, but what about the art?"
"Oh, I didn't have time to really look at that, though I did like this Chinese painter-slash-photographer I noticed during one of my meetings," I answered, a tiny bit cross because that sounded like a criticism to me and, yes, looking at the art would have been quite nice.
"You went to the art museum and didn't look at the art?!"
"Well, no, but, look...it's...aw, hell."
And you laughed your throaty laugh, sweetly, good-naturedly, and I laughed too, and the crossness melted away. And I touched your face gently, and asked to see your drawings, and then kissed you, softly.
Posted by thevieve at September 2, 2006 9:20 AM