Right before I opened my eyes this morning, I thought I saw the gray outline of a jigsaw puzzle.
Was I dreaming? Yes.
Was this ten-second snapshot of a dream significant? Most definitely.
I have been interested in the meaning of dreams since I was in Middle School. Naturally, I had to Google search this one, too. I didn’t dig too deeply—because it was 5am and also my scheduled writing time—and as any writer will tell you, you must fiercely protect your writing time.
For writers, while internet searches can be a tremendous resource, they also have the potential to evolve into enormous distractions. Keeping an eye on the clock, I skimmed just enough sites to learn that dream interpretation for this baby was not going to be quick.
I also learned that, for my brain health, I should probably be assembling jigsaw puzzles on a regular basis.
I enjoy building jigsaw puzzles. The first time that I had cancer, I assembled puzzles quite frequently. I stopped when Wallace the Wonderful decided that he, too, needed to spend time with the puzzles. At night, my writing partner would prowl out to the kitchen. He’d leap unto the table where the puzzle was, and dash the partially built puzzle apart. As I believe most cat owners know, once a feline destroys a puzzle, and pieces go missing, it’s hopeless. You’re never going to find that missing piece (unless you move domiciles, in which case, it’s underneath your couch with at least a dozen hair ties).
Writing the above, I realize that I am a living, breathing puzzle. Some of my pieces have been chewed on. Some have completely disappeared.
It’s not all doom and gloom, though! Incomplete puzzles can be fixed. I don’t recommend this if you’re a perfectionist, but one way to solve the problem is to take a thin piece of cardboard (flattened cereal boxes work well), slide it underneath the puzzle, and trace the shape of the missing piece. Once that’s completed, and if you’re feeling especially brave, you can draw what was on that piece. You can color it in—with paint or colored pencils. You can make it whole again.
Which, incidentally, is precisely what I’m trying to do—be whole again. To heal.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your continued well-wishes and encouragement. Your prayers, love, and light give me hope. Thank you, thank you, thank you.