I had a dream early this morning that Mike and I had bought a big old Victorian house somewhere near Columbus, Ohio. We'd never seen the house but it seems it had been in our possession for quite sometime. When we finally did visit, a neighbor made a point to take me on a tour of the place, one cavernous room sprawling into the next. The house needed a lot of cosmetic work, but it was sound. I envisioned rich polished hardwoods glowing warmly in afternoon light and the exterior freshly painted with white trim. As I wandered the garden admiring the wisteria, I saw that the neighborhood had gathered together an impromptu barbecue to greet us. The area was known for its hip, artistic community dedicated to restoring old houses to their former beauty, and everyone seemed genuinely excited that Mike and I would be joining them.
It was a lovely dream until my conscious brain decided to be a complete buzzkill.
"They don't know yet," it interjected. "They don't know the truth about you."
Shut up, brain. I thought to myself. Not now.
I tried to distract myself by smelling the dream-wisteria hanging from the dream-pergola. I focused on the dream-koi swimming happily in the burbling dream-pond.
But pessimist brain insisted. "Enjoy the camaraderie now, because it's not going to last."
Yeah, yeah, I thought just before I woke up. Soon as the next election rolls around we'll be known as that couple, the right-wing nutjobs with the guns.