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I had the weirdest dream this morning. I went to the bathroom and had a baby. And it happened really fast too.
"What time did I go in?" I asked my mom.
(The alarm rang somewhere here
signalling 7 am and time to wakey wakey, but I defintely had to see how
this one ended. I mean, how often would one have a sane conversation
with the mater about labor and birthing outside of wedlock?
I thought so.)
So what time did I go in?
Now there was a huge group of mom's and grandma's friends sitting
around talking. But NOT about baby. Hmmm. It really seemed as though I
was interjecting into something important.
"Eight thirty," she turned around with a
will-you-finish-with-the-questions-already look. What's the big deal
about a baby anyway.
"Eight thirty? And it's ten thirty now. So it must've been in less than
an hour. Wow" I looked around triumphant, "It wasn't even hard."
At this point I'm not sure where the baby was. Why I wasn't laid out on
a chaise lounge (if nothing else) to rest with my baby in my
arms. Why mom and co. weren't concerned and gossiping about all
that gone down.
*sigh*
So many questions.
Come to think of it, the rest of the dream was about my
mathematics lectures with Gaur in undergrad. Except that from the
classroom windows, we could see the moonlight flitering through palm
fronds onto the beach and the water. I don't even want to take a guess
as to where we were. Or, alternatively, where our classroom had landed.
I'm guessing Goa cause it looked like something out of a scene from
Jaal and the Hemant Kumar number "Yeh raat yeh chandni phir kahan."
So beautiful. *sigh*
*sigh*
Going back to the baby, it has to be tougher to get a driving license than to have a baby.
(Ask me, I've just been trying to hang onto my license for the last ten
years and I had a baby like that <snap fingers> in my dream.)
But imagine. If one had to take a written and practical exam before one
could have a child, maybe pay a $50 application fee, it would be a step
in the road to parenthood where one could stop to think, "Do I
really...?"
Obviously the answer would be a wholehearted "YES" going by the number
of babies that are born on this planet. But it might take away the obviousness
of having a baby, the It's-something-we-must-do-to-be-a-complete-family
part. Wishful thinking, I guess. But I'm so sick of meeting people who
should never have been parents. A Fourteen-year-old eighth-grader and a
Seventeen-year-old who is HIV positive... for instance.
hmmm.
On a different note, I seem to be getting really good at infuriating
people. I don't think I have a friend who I haven't annoyed in the past
week.
Sad.
It's time for my purple pretty tree pictures again.
And one of my birthday cake
And I got flowers
-
Guess what I'm getting for my birthday?
(haan, haan... I'm still alive
No one and nothing can get the better of me.
...
Well, most of the time
. )But guess what I'm getting for my birthday?
Guess, guess, guess!!!
Yup.Are you jealous?
I thought so.
But if it makes you feel better, I saved a long time for it AND a friend pooled in a little bit. So I get it on thursday.
Awesome.
I'm happy.
baki laters~~~
ps.. yes, I'm watching that movie again. It's so good.
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I'm waiting to get my life back. Meanwhile am reading Neruda.
Pact (Sonata)
Neither the heart cut by a piece of glass
in a wasteland of thorns
nor the atrocious waters seen in the corners
of certain houses, waters like eyelids and eyes
can capture your waist in my hands
when my heart lifts its oaks
towards your unbreakable thread of snow.
Nocturnal sugar, spirit
of the crowns,
ransomed
human blood, your kisses
send me into exile
and a stroke of water, with remnants of the sea,
beats on the silences that wait for you
surrounding the worn chairs, wearing out doors.
Nights with bright spindles,
divided, material, nothing
but voice, nothing but
naked every day.
Over your breasts of motionless current,
over your legs of firmness and water,
over the permanence and the pride
of your naked hair
I want to be, my love, alone with a syllable
of mangled silver, alone with a tip
of your breast of snow.
By now sometimes it is not possible
to win except by falling,
by now it is not possible to tremble between
two beings, to touch the flower of the river:
fibres of man come like needles,
procedures, fragments,
families of repulsive coral, torments
and hard steps for winter
carpets.
Between lips and lips there are cities
of great ash and moist summit,
drops of when and how, vague
comings and goings:
between lips and lips as along a shore
of sand and glass the wind passses.
Therefore you are endless; gather me as though you were
all solemnity, all made of night
like a zone, until you are indistinguishable
from the lines of time.
Advance into sweetness,
come to my side until the fingery
leaves of the violins
have gone silent, until the mosses
take root in the thunder, until from the pulse
of hand and hand the roots descend.
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