The Closet Of Broken Dreams

      I never really had an adult apartment all my own, you know, the kind where the dishes are a set and you have end tables and light fixtures and matching towels.  A long time ago, right before I lost my job, I started collecting things for this place. As time went on I would find stuff on sale; a blender, a can opener, towels, a candleier, and I would squirrel it away in a closet in my house. 

Just before I lost my job I had finally reached a point where my bills were pretty much under control and I had savings. I thought at the time I would soon be moving out into a place where I would have real furniture and someplace to put all the candles I had purchased over the years. Then I lost my job, and then I couldnít find another one.

            The thing is I wasnít really worried about the job search at first. Because of this I kept collecting things for the place where I would move. I had been doing this off and on for a while. When my job ended I saw it as the chance to move somewhere else, maybe somewhere where it wasnít so expensive. I would finally be able to have a place with lots of windows and tons of counter space. Silly I guess, but everyone has a dream.

            Like many decisions of my young life collecting that stuff has come back to haunt me. The place that holds what was supposed to be my fabulous future, has become known as Ďthe closet of broken dreams.í  Itís like a symbol of all that is wrong with the world, well my world at least.

            Not to fall too far into sentimental drivel, I see myself in all the unused appliances. My image reflected in the cute mirror I bought at Ikea two years ago (red, too small to look into really, but a perfect accent piece for the wall in my future kitchen) that has no wall on which to hang. Again I must beg forgiveness for an analogy worthy of a great (or terrible) romance writer. I feel like Iím trapped by my assumptions of how everything was supposed to be. I used to have a dream, now I just want a job.

            When I refer to the closet now it is in hushed tones. It is a concrete reminder of all that went wrong. All the dreams I ignored to follow the path that was safe, but turned out not to be safe at all. Maybe I should just sell the stuff on ebay. Anybody need a blender?



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Reilly Sheridan
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Revised: July 13, 2003.