I want my life back

I want my life back. Last night, I dreamed again of a classroom. This time it wasn't one I call a nightmare. The nightmares are the ones where I can't get to the kids on time, or I keep trying to get to school or I'm outside and can't get the door open to my class. This was a real dream. I could smell the sweat of the ponytail of the little girl who was hugging me. I want this back. I want to see their faces turned toward me as the sunflower follows the light. I could smell the chalk in the dream. I was one of the last ones to still use chalk. There is so much magic in chalk. It can lure you in to math races, it can trace the outline of your hand, it can draw the planets in order, My Very Eager Mother Just Sent Us Nine Pizzas, it can draw a map of your life and then you can change it in a second. I want my life back. I want to smell the box of pencils when you open them, and wonder at the magic they will wring from a disbelieving mind. I want to teach you a new word and have it float back to me as you go to lunch. Discombobulate. I want my life back. I am existing in a clear bubble of "you don't really seem to be a part of me anymore". Even my family forgets that I am here, alone, working through each day, fighting the horror of being forgotten by the humans around you. I want my life back. I want to be the go-to gal of the hallway. I want to be searching all summer for objects at yard sales that will let a child feel, touch, explore, take home, question, answer new knowledge. Things like barns for Charlotte, and plastic food for Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, play money from old games to send home to a needy child to practice with, huge bins for legos cause you never get too old for legos, a ratty old box of arrowheads from some widows garage, stuffed toys to hug when you are not for sure about how to borrow and carry. I want my life back. I want to go to workshops and rail against the stupidity of some new order of teaching and watch as the new order turns into the old order that I was already wearing like some comfortable old sweatshirt. I want to drive myself somewhere just because, just because I wanted to go, not have to plan 3 days ahead of time to exist in a change of medication. I want my life back. I want my husband to just assume when he gets home that I am okay. I don't want to see for one more day that look of "please let today have been a good day for her". I want to just hop in tennis shoes and walk the back forty with him. I want to laugh about forgetting my phone number instead of seeing that wrenching look of horror cross his face as he realizes that it is getting worse. I want my life back. I want to plan a trip for my kids that will include a museum that will be filled with tons of things to talk and write about later. I want to volunteer to help at Bible School, volunteer for the Relay for Life, volunteer to decorate for Harvest, volunteer to tutor, volunteer to help a friend with a broken arm, volunteer to help with girl scouts, volunteer to cook for a new family. I want my life back. I don't want to see the edges of me starting to turn clear and know that my invisibility is advancing by minute degrees. I want to have parties and sleepovers and gossip fests and feel plugged into by other people. I want my life back.