I return from the depths of nonblogland, and for what purpose? To share with you (and for my own future recollection) an odd assortment of dreamlike substances I found waltzing through my sleep last night.
So, I was upstairs where all my housekeepers and their children lived, and a boy began to walk his bike up the stairs. Not again, I thought, I don’t have time to babysit. I was just about to go outside and have fun. Then several of my housekeepers also arrived, and began talking to me. We all decided it would be a good idea to watch a movie, and then Norah’s inspiration came in. You see, he was a strange little man, and the reason that Norah had begun to wear birds in her hair. He was so strange that I wasn’t sure what I thought of him, until I knew that he was associated with Norah. Then he was welcomed in.
But I couldn’t take it any longer, so I finally decided to go outside and find Ben. On the shore of the lake, I saw him wading through the reeds. He was baptizing someone, and preaching, or praying, or something. The baptizee, Wes, was then hanging out in the sand with a bunch of football players. I waded forward to say hi to Ben, but then tripped and fell on my back in the reeds. “Oh no!” said Ben, “You’re going to get all wet!”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “Let’s build a sand castle.”
Wes and the football players (there were some females there too, but they didn’t play football) had already built an extravagant sand castle, so Wes decided to help me and Ben. But then Ben got up to go preach somewhere else or something, and I was disappointed. This sand castle was more important.
Then I found myself laying on the floor in a hotel room, on the phone with someone in the Middle East. I was looking at notes from my Persuasion & Influence class, but the pages were yellow and in my Abnormal Psychology binder, with Hebrew written on them. I was calling the secretary of Nidal Malik Hasan, the perpetrator of the Fort Hood shooting in November of 2009, but the name he was saying was that of Skye Jethani. It didn’t matter; I knew who he meant.
“Hello?” He answered the phone. There were loud noises and I could barely hear him.
“Yes, Mr. Jethani?”
“Yes, what do you want?” The noise increased.
“I believe… I would like to talk to Mr. Jethani.”
“You wish to speak to Mr. Skye Jethani?” Ominous music began playing.
“You believe that Mr. Skye Jethani is innocent?” Strings began to screech.
“Yes.” My alarm went off.