Dungaree Dreams

Sometimes when I scan myself I like to imagine I'm in this vast empty dimension with just me in it. Empty space is an oddly calming thought. I know that I am always changing, like the things around me, but there is a reliability about my own body that isn't like anything else. I may change, but I am always here. It's comforting to rely on the presence of myself as the one thing I know for sure will always be with me, because it is me.

Maybe that's why I feel like the idea of all my belongings fitting into one bag is romantic. I remember wanting to run away with a few things in a handkerchief tied to a stick when I was very little. I liked the idea of adventure and self-sustenance and escape portrayed by that illustrative stereotype. The child with an apple and a teddy bear in a handkerchief, sleeping in fields and trees, wearing dungarees and grinning. That's what I wanted to be.

I still have those quaint English countryside dreams, but now I love the city too, and weird art shows, and the ability to buy packs of assorted nuts and a bottle of wine at the supermarket. There's a forest in the city, and a tote bag is more practical than a handkerchief on a stick. The dream is a bit different, but I still have it, and I still have me, and I can buy a dungaree dress if I want to.