Last night I dreamt I was at Manderlay again.
The first line from one of my favourite books Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier
I include the line because we never know the second Mrs De Winters name, she is the narrator of the story.
That’s how I feel about my own life sometimes that I’m narrating the story, but have no clue what the ending will be, the chapters are numerous and a story within themselves.
I have another blogging friend who has been writing her memoirs for the last five years, and watching the story unfold, has made me think if i would be ever brave enough to tell my story the unvarnished version.
I give little bits of me hear, and feel that I’m honest in relating of what I think or feel at any given time, but it’s not cohesive, because they are snippets only, a sleight of hand if you will only letting others know what I want them to know.
I dream sometimes that I live in a lighthouse with the long winding staircase, as I look through the windows seeing parts of my life, wondering if I would change anything the answer invariably is no, but I do see through many windows and remind myself that chapter is yet to come, another adventure.
I’ve not yet blogged about books and what they mean to me, but I always seem able to transport myself to that time and place, be it villain or heroine, and Rebecca always reminds me of the duality of my personality, the flamboyancey and the quiet introspectiveness.
So I keep climbing the staircase looking through the windows catching glimpses of the girl I was and seeing the woman I am, until I reach the top of the lighthouse with occasional forays into the rabbit hole.