My Universe

Singlegal

When I picture my Universe, he is a short, stocky man wearing a toga. He’s got a big, Roman nose, and he’s all white except for a large, red nose and red lips.  Universe wears a crown of laurels and sits in a relaxed position, dining on grapes and Slim Jims. His laugh, especially when I visit, is boisterous.

I often stop by and ask Universe what he has in store for me. Like a discussion with a toddler, I often don’t get very far.

Universe, I say, what is happening to my dreams?

Universe chuckles. Dreams-Schmemes, he says. Those weren’t your dreams anyway. Pick some new ones.

But why? I whine. I like my dreams. I’ve worked hard for them. They are mine. They are what I wanted, and I almost had them, with Ex, for a minute. Can I not have them with someone else?

Universe sneers. What makes you so special? Do you think you are my only human being to care for? Run along now, learn something new – like how to ride a horse.

Universe thinks he’s funny. His sense of humor comes through in most of my dating interactions. His cruelty, in my relationships.

But Universe – I saw, almost in a whine – can I not have love? Can I not be financially secure? Can I not own a home? Can I not take a cruise? How about companionship? Safety? State of mind?

Want Want Want, says Universe. Haven’t I given you enough already? Look at all you have. Others don’t have half of what you do. What makes you think you deserve more?

I center myself. Am I asking too much? I think inside the head I know  Universe can hear. Have I already received my allotment of dream fulfillment? Is it time now for me to work with what I’ve got, and stop “wanting” for more?

Is this … it?

Universe is shoveling Doritos in his face. Cool ranch are his favorite. He stares at me out of the corner of his eye, hoping I’ll go away. I don’t know what to ask for since the directions I have gone as of late bring me right back here – looking at his imaginary lard ass. I don’t know what I’m entitled too because wanting seems so painful sometimes. And I don’t know how to dream anymore because it seems so dangerous.

If Universe has a plan for me, he does not reveal. He does not even give me clues anymore. He did a year ago. But now, I am adrift in his sea. Prayers are for your gods, he chides me, letting me know that’s not his arena. I despise him lately, and he me, perhaps for all those years I ignored his presence while I lived, safely, in my content little bubble. But he demands my attention now.

I glare at Universe, and turn to go. I mumble  under my breathe about how he chews with his mouth open. But secretly, I plan. I plan my coup – the overtaking of my Universe, once I can find my way again. I want to sit up on that thrown eating bon bons while he reports to ME. This seems a long way off. How do I get there? I do not know. But in the end, I walk away with one thought, one longing, one desire …

How do I make Universe my bitch again? Must … keep … trying …

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