I'm seated at a table outdoors somewhere -- a swank L.A. eatery? Something occupies my hands. I'm making a pair of earrings, slicing frilly lettuce, or ???. . .

Ted Danson sits across from me and another man is to my left. I feel their eyes upon me. Interest, desire, that thing -- you women know. I feel shy, a little scared.

“You forty-four?” Ted asks.

“No, forty-two,” I respond too quickly. I immediately avert my eyes.

Time bends again. I lose myself in that primordial dream state.

Suddenly, I feel self-conscious again. I look up. Ted Danson is stretched out on a chair next to me, naked, skinny and hirsute. He searches for my approval, or better yet, my enthusiasm. I look away, trying not to laugh out loud.

Back to primordial fluid dream state.

Now my husband sits opposite me, his eyes fixed on something he’s working on -- eating, patching a tire tube, or ???. . .

“You happier with just the kids?

“No,” I state emphatically. I still want us to be an intact family.

“I am.”

This jolts me awake. Anxiety gnaws away at my solar plexus as I lay in our queen-size bed without him. He’s staying with a friend. I try to get back to sleep. I stuff a small, hard throw pillow beneath my stomach and the bed. My head’s bent at a sharp right angle, my ear pressed against the mattress. It’s a technique I have developed over the years.

Twenty minutes takes me to a deep sleep, thankfully devoid of dreams, until morning.

By Vicki Inglis

Labels: dream state, Dreams, hot guy, husband, L.A., Vicki Inglis

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