What may come of dreams

I awake most mornings from the same dream, where inside my head I am dreaming as well, only when I awake from that dream I am in a unfamiliar world. A world where the people speak with a foreign tongue, eat with a foreign spice, and live life with a foreign zest.

Although I do not comprehend everything that they say, I am rapidly picking up on their language, and if spoken slowly enough I can usually piece together the gist of the conversation. It feels similar to when I am on vacation only this time I have the added pressure of finding a job. Even though this should be a great source of stress for me, I am not worried as I have many talents, and have always managed to fend for myself.

In fact, this is a dream, so worries about practical things like work and housing are not invited. My worries are along the lines of pork or seafood for lunch, beach workout or gym, love fast or slow, red or white wine? I hate this dream as it makes me forlorn, for I am not in a foreign land, but in a land known all too well for its frowning upon dreams, dreams that have nothing to do with capitalism that is. In this land people dream about getting a job, then with that job they dream of having the opportunity to see their loved ones, to do something nice for themselves, to simply smile...but not smile to keep from crying.

I live in a land where all things material are of value, and everything is to be possessed, where the right hand wants what the left hand has, and we mock those who place emphasis on anything that is not financially valued. A land where everything is nothing, and nothing is everything. A land where instead of men doing something to earn the pride of being men, women have to falsely convince them of their titles, all while downplaying their own merits.

I know that this land too is a dream for many. However to that I say, If you give a mouse a cookie,. He's going to ask for a glass of milk. When you give him the milk, he'll probably ask you for a straw. ... and so is the story of many of my countrymen...never satisfied....when sometimes all you really need is the milk and the cookie.

Of Mice and Men?

What is a man I ask, I obviously need a role-model in that department. What I see everyday, who I meet, who I talk with, these actions have left me feeling as though a man is really a mouse.

Let me explain:

In the past 5 months I have had to move several times around the city, just me and my 6 suitcases, taxi to taxi, Upper East to Murray Hill. Each time I just packed up my own stuff, hailed a taxi, and did all the heavy lifting myself. Repeatedly carrying these suitcases up flights and flights of stairs, pain ripping through my muscles, sweat running down my face, cursing the antique pre-war walk-up that dominates New York.

Out of each move only 1 time did a guy offer to help me- one guy. He offered to take up 1 suitcase 3 flights of stairs, and then he continued on with his day. However, every single time I moved random women would come over and ask if I needed help, to which I obviously turned them down.

The other night after working more than 12 hours at the office, so tired that my eyes were stinging and tearing, I attempted to hail a cab home. Standing in the cold on the corner with one hand in the air, I watched as a man came out of his building, walked beneath my raised arm, walked directly up to a cab, and opened the door to get in. I of course, stunned to my core, yelled at him "hey, are you fucking serious"? It was only then he stepped away from the cab, leaving the door ajar for me.

Last week I hired a mover to drive and carry my things for me because it was my birthday and I deserved to not do hard labor that day. The man arrives in all his tight-shirt, bulging muscled glory, and within 20 minutes he was breathing hard, leaning against the wall, and taking several long pauses. I on the other hand, had things to do so proceeded to carry my own things (i.e. air conditioner) up the flight of stairs, my Nikes' literally feeling like "Air" as I flew up the stairs and back down again.

My conclusion is that I've come to realize that most men today have no heart. I mean yes, there is a muscle there with 4 chambers, ventricles, etc, etc... but that's not a heart. A heart is what most women have. Its nurturing, its fulfilling, its thoughtful, its strong. Just when its on its last beat, it takes a weak pause, then starts back up stronger than ever. Women have heart, and in today's world we have to depend on it a lot more than our ancestors did.

Me personally, I feel men have the hearts of mice..perhaps of Mice and Men would be an aptly title for this theory? On the other hand I have the heart of a beast. Similar to those monsters in the old horror movies that never die..that's me. I have the heart of a ghastly, grizzly beast, and I have to ascertain when to let that beast out, and when to retreat to the tiny mouse so I can get him to come out and play with me.

Why do I have to dim my light, my brilliance, my spark, in order to get the mouse to come out of his hiding place? Why can't he come out when its bright? Why is it then even after I've dimmed my shine, the mouse can only take from me? Mr. Mouse never does anything nice for me, never keeps his word, and doesn't even do what a mouse should do well.

Mice have no problem at all with coming out of their hiding places when they're hungry, thirsty, sniffing around behind me via text and Facebook chat trying to secure some cookies ("If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" was one of my favorite childhood books, now I know why). The minute I say I want something, the mouse retreats to his hole.

Can I tell you something? I hate mice. Always have, always will. I'm more into Lions, Tigers, and Bears....oh my.