Skitzo or Romantic? You be the judge.

To me, the dirtier the house the better.

I like the monochromatic color of this house, along with the narrow window. Overgrown bushes frame the doorstep. I could do that. Easy.
Here’s something you may not want to know about me, I’m obsessed with the past. Not even with anything that could be useful in Jeopardy, like dates & facts…But more with the day-dreamy side of it all. Take the first photo on here. That house is for sale and I want it. I found a website that specifically sells historical properties and my eye was instantly drawn to it. Why this one instead of the beautifully maintained, ornate mansion? Well, because this one is dirty with a half dead tree in front of it and no official driveway. Isn’t it obvious? Come to think of it, maybe I’m not so much in love with the past, but with the deterioration of time.

Despite my husband’s eye-rolling, I broke down and purchased a civil war gown on Ebay. It looks like a bad bridesmaid dress, but it was selling at a good price and I couldn’t resist it. I can’t wait to mow the yard in it. Wait, they didn’t have lawn mowers back then, so does that mean I don’t have to do it?
Daydream haters will always tell me, “but Carrie, do you know how bad it must have smelt back then?” or “you wouldn’t last a day without modern conveniences, like air conditioning or $5 Little Caesar pizzas.” Well you know what, daydream haters? I just now ate pizza in a rose-smelling, cold New York Brownstone while wearing a civil war dress. So, leave me alone.

The ironic part is that I got my first dose of reality from a dream. A few nights ago, I spent many hours in a post-civil war village. I was the newcomer and a villager was taking me around town, proudly showing off its latest additions to Main Street. In the town square, we came upon a few tables with large pots. Women were standing around stirring the stew-mixture and gossiping. When I arrived they gave me a spoonful to try. It tasted flavorful and I asked my guide what herbs were in it. He laughed and said, “oh, there are no herbs. the flavor comes from all the insects that land on the stew and get stirred in.” I blanched and immediately clicked my heels together. But then the next thing I knew, I was sitting on a horse-drawn wagon with my legs dangling off the back. People were filing out of a home and singing a civil war song and laughing…and I was right back into my romantic vision of life during this time.

Hours can slip by while I immerse myself in these thoughts. Coming-to is the hardest part. Other people can stick to their cocaine and heroine… daydreaming will always be my drug of choice.

One comment on “Skitzo or Romantic? You be the judge.

  1. Bruce L. Snell says:

    OK, I haven’t even begun the process of shooting my Carolyn-in-1940s-dress-with-1940s-airplane shot and now you spill the beans you’ve got a civil war dress? The wheels are turning…-Bruce

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