I Dreamed a Dream
I don't normally dream-share (too afraid some one will psychoanalyze me), nor do I find meaning in the images (a cat's a cat, and no harbinger of evil). But last night, I dreamed a doozy-dream about the very thing I've been planning to write on this blog for some weeks. So, I'll say my dream was a call to action, and write these crazy metaphors all over cyber-space. Maybe, if I'm lucky, someone will psychoanalyze....or at the very least, tell me my fortune ;)
Now I Tell the Dream to You
I am waiting in line in front of a yellow-bricked building. I am waiting in a line to register for classes--for my master's degree. In order to register, I am required to do one simple task, involving Mrs. Fisher-Price, of my preschool doll-house days. (For those of you deprived of Fisher-Price families, see them here. Really. Go visit. You need to see the family before you continue. Sweet, aren't they? Back to the dream.)
Take Mrs. Fisher-Price,
Place her in a vice,
And saw her little legs off,
Saw her little peg off.
And, voila! I am registered for life in the yellow-brick Master's school. Except Mrs. Fisher-Price is rather hard to cut through, even with a saw. And throughout the rest of my dream, the image of the saw going through her little peg comes back over and over and over. And the image of her head in the vice--that comes back, too.
So I'm registered for these classes; now it's time to actually go to one. I go to a Mr. Stegall class (let it be known that Stegall classes are normally theater classes, but in my dream, he teaches Spanish). I go to this Stegall class, without my book, because I've lost my book--already on the first day. I come in, and Mr. Stegall has a pile of books on the floor--books he's throwing away out of the library collection.
Saw, saw, saw your doll
Saw her right in two.
Squeeze her head in the vice
While she smiles at you.
All these books, he's going to burn them, Mr. Stegall is. Because they are knitting books, not just any knitting books, because they are knitting books by my all-time favorite knitter Elizabeth Zimmerman (for un-knitter's out there, she was a cooky little lady who taught people how to really knit again--no patterns, no books, just knit like they used to). Can I save them? Can I save the books?
No self-respecting theater-person would waste her time with them.
No self-respecting.
No self-respecting.
Mrs. Fisher-Price snaps in two.
And I wake up.
And Now I Write a Blog
So I've been thinking about getting an M.A. in dramatic production. More than thinking, really--Benjamin and I have prayed about it and started planning for it. It's always been my dream, to get this degree, to someday maybe teach/direct? Trouble is, I can't just drop everything and run with this, like some, nor can I so easily harmonize my wiferly life with my scholerly life, as others have.
Most people I've talked to say GET IT NOW. You won't get it later. You won't. You won't. And I wouldn't. I know that.
But is it worth it? My health is rather precarious. And children are more important than words. Is it worth it? Is it possible to do both? My mind says no. Housewife or scholar. Mother or teacher. My mind, like a violent pendulum, decides first this at all costs, then that at all costs, yes-no, yes-no.
And I'm wondering how to balance?
Posted by stephanie at August 2, 2005 09:01 AM | TrackBack