Every so often, I dream of a plane crashing. Not one I am on, but one I witness dropping from the sky.
Last night, it was three. Two smaller air show-like stunt planes, followed by a commercial airliner. They all landed in water and disappeared beneath the surface almost immediately.
I called 911 and let them know, but as I was talking, I had trouble remembering details, and then began to doubt whether I’d seen it, or not.
I started to wonder if I’d just been dreaming, and rather than waste more of their time, I hung up on 911. And then I woke up.
Sometimes I dream while I am in the midst of waking, and imagine things are happening. Usually I have to turn on a light and think about what’s real before I can piece things together again. Once I was convinced I saw smoke and was already planning how to best evacuate the house when I realized I couldn’t see it anymore. It’s confusing, and the feeling never really leaves once I am fully awake.
In other news, it occurred to me earlier that I’m back to my late 20’s weight, but with my early 40’s body, which means more appropriate curves and a smidgen of maturity. I mean, it’s also an early 40’s body with MS, so it is tired all of the time, and in pain much of the time. Today has been particularly brutal, because I over-exerted myself the past two days. So it’s not perfect, but I am content with it, regardless.
For the first time in over a decade, whenever I look at a photograph or catch my reflection in a mirror, I can see myself in it again. There’s so much more to it than mere appearance, and even more to go as I grow, but it’s a pretty amazing place to be, I’ve gotta say.
It’s a sensation I didn’t know I’d lost until it came back again. In a body I no longer know, due to a disease that takes away control, I can still see myself; see me again, and know me anew.
I feel a vague sense of power in that.