I am standing outside my theater-size classroom, 10 minutes early. No clue what age I am. Sit down on a bench and open my laptop and read the assignment for today, which I hadn't done. I was to write one or two typewritten pages on What and Where Am I In 10 Years. So I start banging it out.
I write about wilderness and mountains, some sort of helper or attendant in the background. A life of audio books, cats, good smells of the earth/trees/food, warmth and comfort, ease and solitude and cerebral pursuits. There is a white cane. No other people aside from the unseen but devoted caretaker.
It feels peaceful, contented.
Then all the doors bang open, students and noise streaming by. As I gather my things to go into class, I wake up having to pee.
So in this dream at least, I've accepted and adapted to being blind, and it can still be good. The being alone part was a surprise, but not entirely repugnant to an old tired woman, if you get my drift. Maybe the kids and grandkids visit a lot.
