I came downstairs this morning, hit the bottom step and gasped. Who's house is this? I walk through the living room, slowly turning to all sides, in bare feet. Where's my nasty chewed up wood floor? Why is there cushioning under my feet? And why isn't there an enormous hockey table filled with crap taking up space? It feels so quiet, looks so peaceful, this can't be my house.
`
I move on, into the kitchen...oh there's the hockey table....sigh....but at least it's not covered with crap. Yet. Oh yeah, this is my house. But wait, as I move by my office, Wow! Look at that big room and all those windows! Who's house is that? This is just surreal. Wasn't that a garage that was downright dangerous to navigate through? It's so lovely, so clean... this can't be my house.
`
I get the sensation of the other shoe dropping. It's like there's no way all this good can happen...somewhere there's a clause or a monkey waiting with a pin to burst my bubble. I had such vivid dreams last night....what if this is just a continuation of that? What if I wake up and poof! it's all gone? What if it all never really happened and this is some kind of weird cosmic joke? I'm gonna wake up and live in a nasty house and be a telephone operator for the rest of my
life.....
`
Not that there's anything wrong with that....but just in case, I think I'll go roll on the new carpet some more....
`
Lost? Insert hockey table and 25 year old wood floor here:
If you see Barry, tell him he rocks!!!
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