October 12, 2010 by skwishface
I’m a wretched, awful blogger. I shan’t even look at the datestamp on my last entry, lest it depress me.
In an attempt to revive my blogginess, I logged into my old Myspace account and started re-reading old blog entries from back in The Day. Some of them are quite entertaining (in my very modest opinion) and I shall share them here.
First up: a post made on 2/14/2008 about a dream I’d had the night before. Note the lack of any mention of Valentine’s Day.
We’ve moved the boy out of our bedroom and OMG why didn’t we do this months ago? He’s sleeping like a rock. A heavily sedated rock. A rock that’s been bathed in opium and sung a lullaby in the pillowy soft embrace of NyQuil. Not that any of that happens to rocks in the normal course of events, and I don’t mean to imply that any of that happens to my child either, and shit is that CPS at the door?
He’s not the only one. I’ve been sleeping like I haven’t slept since … well, since before ever I got pregnant. For almost two years, I’ve had something disturbing my rest – first trimester nausea, second trimester marathon sex, third trimester heartburn, contractions, newborn hunger pangs, infant illnesses, and so on. But now. Now the baby is perfectly healthy and asleep in a different room. Something about that wall separating us gives me permission to really turn everything off and just S L E E P.
And my gawd, is my body making up for lost time. The hours between 10:30pm and 6:00am pass in the blinking REM eternity of an eye. My dreams are intensely vivid, and my bed impossibly hard to leave in the mornings.
Just last night, I dreamt – quite realistically!! – that Johnny Depp was just hanging around. Like I had a spare Johnny Depp on my hands, and had to find a way to entertain him. And for some ridiculous reason, my dreaming mind decided the best way to entertain Johnny Depp was not hot monkey sex (imagine my crushing disappointment in myself when I awoke), but rather to take him to my grandparents’ house in Indiana. Because why the hell not?
We had a pleasant stay at my grandparents’ house, but it was inevitably time to leave. This led to the one moment of this entire dream that I recall with utter crystal clarity. I ask Johnny Depp is he would like to fly back to Austin, or just hop in a car and make it a road trip (clearly my ulterior motive was prolonging our time together). He pauses and stares into the middle distance, all thoughtful dark eyes and poetically wavy hair. He purses his lips and says in a quiet voice “I don’t really enjoy a road trip unless it’s in an Airstream.”
Knowing that all I have is a Honda (random – I drive a Ford), I ask “What if we don’t have an Airstream?”
By way of reply, Johnny Depp sighs and dips his chin, causing the light to make dramatic shadows of his perfect cheekbones. He runs a hand through his hair, letting the shining waves fall in artfully dishevelled ways, and looks at me with mildly disappointed eyes and an amused quirk to his mouth and says,
“Well then I guess I won’t enjoy the road trip.”