Time yet for a hundred indecisions

[This morning’s waking fantasy.]

John Porter (Richard Armitage) sleeping in Strike Back 1.3. Sorry to keep posting this, there aren’t a lot of images of Porter sleeping. Source: RichardArmitageNet.com

“Aaaach!” I sit up straight in bed. Porter is there. I fall back down on my back, breathing heavily.

“That dream was heavy,” he comments.

“What, now you’re observing the dreams I have that have nothing to do with Richard Armitage?”

“Well, it was kind of hard to miss that one — it filled up the whole room.” He sees the expression on my face and says, “come here,” and pulls my head over toward his shoulder. I twist slightly and nuzzle my cheek against his scar.

“Plus,” he continues, “mornings here are dull, if y’ask me.”

“My parents are in the room across the hall!”

“Bed’s kinda small, too.”

I snort. “Yeah, I’m surprised you fit in it at all.”

He laughs. “We could move downstairs.”

“Do you know,” I muse, “I’ve never had sex in this house. I’ve only brought three men to meet my parents over the years, but they’ve always slept downstairs, or in my brother’s old room.”

“We could go outside,” he persists, sparks dancing in his eyes. “‘Course, you’d still have to control yourself a bit.”

“Bugs!” I object.

“Candy-ass,” he comments.

“You bet,” I say. I snuggle up a bit closer, careful where I put my hands.

“I was in the German city where I did my doctoral research and I was looking for an apartment. I had someone scouting for a place, and I was walking through the historic center to meet her when I ran into two of the people in my doctoral research group who are still living there. They were sort of on the margins of my group of friends and we’ve fallen out of touch. They were excited to see me, but I wasn’t excited to see them, and I was tapping my toe impatiently while we exchanged contact information. While I was speaking to them, the doctoral student whose dissertation I agreed to read and criticize this summer showed up on the street, caught my eye, and then stood just in my line of vision while we were finishing up. She never said anything, but I knew she wanted me to read her dissertation. It was market day and we were standing at the edge of the weekly market. Before the doctoral student could get to me, the president of the synagogue walked by, waved, and mouthed, ‘I’ll be in touch soon.'”

“Hmm, pretty clear what this dream means, eh?”

The view in my dream.

“Yeah, except then the apartment scout walked into view, as well. Somehow now the perspective of the dream had changed and we were standing at the crossroads of the town, and I could see the store across from my favorite bookstore in my line of vision, with the bookstore reflected in the shop window. She told me that no landlord was going to rent to someone who didn’t want to make an open-ended commitment, and she was tired of looking for something that didn’t exist, so she was quitting.”

“And then you woke up,” he says.

“And then I woke up.”

We’re both silent for a moment.

“Look,” he said, “you’re going to have dreams like this for awhile, with all the moving and decision-making you’ve been doing.”

“Especially after the conversations with my parents and brother and sister-in-law the last two nights. I just want to know what the right thing to do is.”

“Everyone wants to know that, love.”

“And I don’t want them to give me new information after I’ve made the decision that makes me question the decision I’ve made.”

“Hey, hey, you can’t change anyone but yourself, girl.”

“I said I would leave it up to G-d.

“And?”

“The answer I got was more like something you’d hear from the Delphic oracle in a Greek play.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t ask G-d for answers to questions that don’t have do with G-d.”

“Maybe I should stop thinking about my career and family choices as if they resulted from a vocation.”

“Now, now,” his lips come over, and he kisses the top of my head, “no need to be snippy. This is all going to work itself out.”

“I know,” I say, “but in whose time frame?”

We’re both silent again.

“Gotta get up and make breakfast,” I say. “They say they’re doing to make hay today, and dad never eats enough, and now the nutritionist says my father has ‘poor eating competence,’ whatever that is. If I’m moving out in a month, that’s the first of many things I have to get resolved as soon as I can.”

He brightens. “So it’s only a month more for this bed, then. Hadn’t thought of that!”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, before you start cooking, give us a proper kiss.”

I’m happy to comply.

“Will you make me some eggs?”

“Sure ’nuff.”

~ by Servetus on July 1, 2011.

14 Responses to “Time yet for a hundred indecisions”

  1. I used to live and work in that city at the beginning of my professional life. I remember it fondly & the bookstore used to be my favourite as well… I still have to attend meetings in that city several times a year and I always try to include a visit to the bookstore – and to the lovely cafe ;-). My best wishes go out to you as I make my way to the ferry which is going to take me back from Oslo to Kiel as my vacation draws to an end.

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    • LOVE that café and I also make a point of going there every time I’m in town. Lived there for 2.5 years …

      Sorry your vacation’s over, but hope you have many pleasant memories!

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  2. Oh, dear, Servetus. I have been in a similar situation, long ago. It was agonising. My thoughts are with you.

    “Poor eating comptetence”, my *censored*. Don’t you just love newspeak?? >-:(

    Now, to my shallow side again – I love John’s delicate wrists and fingers. And I am officially in love with his skin!

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    • I agree, his wrist is beautiful in this photo. Mmmm.

      What I didn’t get was how “poor eating competence” was any different from saying, “he doesn’t like to eat and won’t unless someone makes him a warm meal, sits down and eats with him,” which is what I perceive the problem to be. He’ll eat if you make it into a social opportunity, but if it’s just him and he has to feed himself he’s not that interested and he forgets. I didn’t understand why it had to be turned into a sociological category. I was a bit surprised that she didn’t offer us instruction to enhance his “eating competency” and thus overcome this problem.

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  3. I am still struggling with my indecisions – can you send Porter to my house? I can make eggs!!

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    • Will do. He’s a big eater. 🙂

      If it helps at all, I did not feel better after having decided. I think you have to decide based on what you know and then see how it falls out …

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  4. You mentioned before that you’ve read “Tearing the Silence” by Ursula Hegi but I’m wondering if you’ve ever read her novel “Intrusions”? She talks about indecision and the way her real life and writing life intrude on each other. I highly recommend it.

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  5. […] The way the academic world works, decisions take a long time to play out. The job cycle for my profession in the U.S. starts in late August of one year and most people are hired in February or March of the next year to start in August or September. There are a few exceptions to this pattern, and the current economic situation adds a fair amount of chaos, but in general if you don’t apply in a particular cycle you risk unemployment for at least a year. I didn’t apply because I simply couldn’t. Last March something odd happened, and my feelings about the whole thing changed, partially because of the ongoing prayers for discernment, partially due to a weird accident. I still knew I couldn’t force myself to enter the market, but I decided that if something happened to me to keep me in the profession, I would accept it as providence. Four opportunities presented themselves with no initiative on my part. The first one primarily served as something for me to think about to avoid anxiety; the second was largely a pipe dream on the part of the person who sought it, and evaporated quickly — thankfully, as it would have been a hard pill to swallow; the third was the interview that made me want to vomit, and the fourth was the last second job offer, received after I’d long assumed the moment had passed, but / and only two days after I’d completed the move to my parents and was ready to start looking for a new life. After some consultation with my parents about the situation, and at their vehement urging, I took that job. […]

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  6. […] to maintain my anonymity, but mostly because I haven’t known what to write. I was heavily uncertain whether this was the right decision, even up to the night before work, even through the first week. I still waver. But things are so […]

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  7. […] a lot to be thankful for, this year. Exit from bondage. My parents are both still with us. An expected job offer that turned out to have created a place of healing for me that I couldn’t have imagined. […]

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  8. […] in the bedroom, slipping back into bed, lying back next to me. After this move, I bought a twin, just like I had at my parents’, so he’s especially close, his body especially […]

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  9. […] never thought, when I was trying to make a career decision in a limited time frame, that people I’d never met would email me their phone numbers and tell me to call if I needed […]

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  10. […] it. Servetus moves home for a life makeover. Against expectations, however, she is offered and then takes a job that she is not really sure she wants. Fans of Richard Armitage eagerly await the premiere of […]

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  11. […] She had been home for five days, when one of the jobs called back. Two days to decide. She dithered. An Armitage friend whom she’d never spoken to before reassured her. She took it. […]

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