Go Ask Linda

When I was a kid I used to re-read my books over and over.  One of the books I read over and over was Go Ask Alice, which, if I read it now, would seem like a really depressing book since it's about a girl who ultimately dies of a drug overdose.  But there was a part in it that fascinated me, that I still remember vividly.  Alice runs away from home... I can't remember whether she was on drugs at the time or not, but she hooks up with this group of kids who are renting out a store and fixing it up for a snack shop/soda bar.  They paint the walls, they paint the floors, they get big cushy pillows and funky chairs,  Alice is happy, working hard for the first time in her life and she manages to stay free of drugs for the duration.  Eventually her parents find her and she has to go back to her home where she eventually overdoses, end of story.

I don't remember the rest of the book much but I was always captivated by the thought of opening your own place, decorating it, dreaming and seeing the dream become a reality.  When my BP & I were looking at all the spaces, I kept feeling this sort of disconnect until I saw the space we are both really excited about.  I've had this vague feeling about it... couldn't put my finger on it... until this morning.  The floors are painted.  It's totally vintage and funky. There's a great possibility that all the furnishings will be unique, no cookie cutter matching chairs and tables here.  Each room will have a different flair.  I can see them all, quite clearly in my mind.  I am positively giddy at the prospects and potential.

I realized that there was a feeling I kept having about the place that was alternately exciting and terrifying. When I was a young girl, re-reading my books over and over again, my mother would get very frustrated with me. Not being a reader herself, she couldn't understand the glory of getting lost in your imagination, she was(is) a practical survivor, if it's not real then why bother with it?  She would yell at me, "there you are with your nose stuck in a book-- and then you start acting like the characters you like in the book, who are you now? Scarlett? Jane Eyre? Alice?" 

It was quite disconcerting to then try and figure out what was real and what WAS imagination.  Was I acting out my fantasy of being the heroine in the book? Am I now? Or was this something I really believed to be true, a dream?  When I was 15 I couldn't always tell the difference.  But now that I'm almost 50 I have learned that that's because there really isn't any difference.  The part of the heroine that I loved was the part I identified with, the parts of me that I loved. (thank you SoulCollage!)  The parts of the story that I connected to the most were the road maps to my future dreams.  Dreams consist of equal parts of reality and imagination in order to come true.

I think Alice painted her floor rainbow colors. Perhaps I'll paint mine the color of the earth. Imagination grounded in reality.  Or maybe I'll take a flight of fancy and paint it chakra colors... The best part of the dream is the dreaming, right?