this was one for the record dream books.
a letter to a friend before i run off for some xmas tryptophan and eggnog...
A,
I just had the most fucken bizarre dream.
This is one of those I had to write down...
We were out somewhere - summer night, you, me Hali and some other girl, walking up some streets near your place. There was this girl on the side of the street, lying in those little patches of grass in front of a house. She was moaning and was pregnant. There was a car nearby (our car?) and we rushed over. Turns out she was in labour and was having the baby.
You called to me and Hali to get the 'supplies" out of the car. We dashed over with gigantic pads the size of a body builder's arms and some blankets. You stood there , hunched over her with a baby hanging upside down by it's legs - "already done! That was easy!" took it, wrapped it in a depends and off we went to the hospital. I gave the woman a depends, she gushed blood, felt faint but we managed to put her in the car..
flash forward to some sort of funky loft/lounge where everything looked like a dark and brooding ikea. Kelly green walls and white mouldings with minimal recessed ceiling lights. Everybody was young - 18-22. We walked in like we owned the place and spoke of things 80's. I gave some advice - "if you like coldplay, you gotta listen to Heaven 17. Japan with David sylvian was also cool". These people (and some really hot young boys) hung on our every word. They vigilantly took notes and hummed and hawed in deep interest. Some music was put on and we showed them how to dance. We were the belles of the ball.
We left in some sort of convertible (in and through the house) and everybody waved and talked among themselves about how cool we were.
Flash forward to your place - 2nd floor.
The stairs were straight and came directly down from the top to the bottom floor. It was dark and lots of deep blue in the rooms. One room was the baby's room - filled to the rafters with pampers, baby wipes, and other baby toiletries. You were somewhere talking to p as I examined the 75 different types of diaper absorbency (low flow, wings, no wings, nighttime, afternoon...) You came back upstairs - really upset - said p didn't understand your 'mission' (apparently birthing babies from women who didn't get to make it to the hospital) and wanted you to be more 'traditional' - not show your legs and wear the hijab. !! You shared your displeasure with me as you packed your 'nanny to go' ditty bag. You went downstairs again and heard the two of you talking in farsi - you saying little - "ehkhla", "fkhalla" angrily and forcefully as he lahlahlahed on and on. You stormed out of the house with your bag and left me alone. The house fell silent.
I ended up on the outside - and despite the fact that there was ice on the lines and telephone poles, it was really warm. I had to come back in - but this time, had to swing from the telephone pole, and slide 007 style across the clothesline, break the ice and climb up a gym rope to get back into your upstairs. I was upset that you had left without me - and I sat in a sea of uber thick baby wipes and sulked - feeling left out and unimportant.
how fucked is that!?
And from what I could see of p, he was wearing those silly Aldan shoes, a long flowing robe and looked like someone from the Hobbit, but had an overgrown goatee and mammoth sideburns..
weird.
Are you planning to get a hijab girlfriend?
off to my mom's - call you later bella - oxoxox
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