It's a Disney World

I was in Disney World for a few days - so that's why no posting.

In anticipation of the trip I'd been thinking Disney was boring and fake in a way that was insulting. Either I've fast-forwarded to middle-aged-dom (as predicted!), where you prefer the quaint and predictable over dingy and precarious, or Disney is not that bad. In fact, I had a wonderful time. It's clean, everyone is smiling, seriously, everyone. Food is plentiful. You can go on cool rides that let you feel like you are flying over an orange grove, releasing just enough Orange Grove Scent to make you feel like you are there. I don't care if it's fake, it truly is a magical place. To be honest, I've enjoyed all my trips to Disney, including a recent all-expenses paid that I won and took my best friend for free! I think I've been feeling down, and going to Happyland felt like I'd have to force myself to match the tone.

It is where I simultaneously discovered how depressed and not depressed I truly am. I realized that when I have some down time, and can take the day as it comes with no plans, I'm happy-go-lucky, and I hear, fun to be around. My mind isn't filled with myriad activities and goals that need accomplishing. I don't feel the need to drastically revise my life. I think, is this what normal people feel like? I also find when I'm on a plane ride, held captive in my seat assignment which plopped me 30 aisles away from my husband, in my solitude I become sick with grief, daydreams are more like daymares and all I can think about is my father and regrets.

I unintentionally commemorated the 3 month anniversary of his death in Disney World. There are no rituals to be performed on such a date, by Bosnian or any other tradition that I'm aware of, but my own. Remembering. Not Forgetting.

Mike and I had a dinner date on the river across from the fireworks display at the Magic Kingdom. We ate filet, drank a great syrah, held hands, said a prayer, chit chatted.

That night, I dreamt of my father for the first time since his passing. It was a neutral dream. I was simply calling him up to ask him a question, like I often did in the past. For his amusement, I decided to ask him in Serbo-Croatian. Even in my dream I knew I was getting it wrong, and I don't think he understood what I was asking.

In my dream, he didn't (or couldn't?) respond, but I knew he was listening.