Maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation if I had worn pantyhose and a sheath skirt and climbed the corporate ladder, which seems really perverted when I think about it. I think that was supposed to be the American Dream, but I bought into the rocking the cradle so I could rule the world version. My daughter is getting motion sickness and I can’t even rule myself, so I don’t think that’s going to happen, either. Besides, the world is so unruly. Who would want that job?

Maybe if half the marriages end in divorce, either my or my husband’s marriage was destined to fail.

Maybe it was easier having the American dream when people’s schedules accommodated a good 8 hours sleep each night. And reality keeps rudely awakening us so much nowadays, too.

Maybe I should be questioning why everyone was supposed to be dreaming the same thing. How many people have dreamt what I’ve dreamt? Do you want to hear about the dream when all the telephone poles on my street had Jesuses dying on them, or the Space Oddity rip-off when I made a wrong turn driving the tractor-trailer and was heading beyond the moon?

Maybe the chickens in every pot turned into chicken in buckets with a side of biscuits that turned to chick peas in some kick-ass hummus.

Maybe we can each live some kind of dream.