Dreams

It's been one of those weeks where your dreams are too real. I am living in those moments, making conscious decisions, and ultimately, freely thinking my own thoughts.

That's the weirdest part for me. The thoughts.

I woke up startled, not quite terrified, on Thursday morning. I'd just had a pregnancy-labor dream. I realize I've probably just been reading too much of NPR's Baby Project (it's sort of cute; if you're into that sort of thing, you should check it out).

In my dream, I was in labor, at the hospital, walking around with my mom and wearing one of those horrible hospital gowns. But the strangest part of the dream was that I kept thinking how I was only x amount of time into labor and already bored.

I sincerely hope that someday, my worst fear for childbirth is how bored I am. I reached down and felt my flat stomach and breathed a sigh of relief. Carlos meowed as he usually does when I bother him too early in the morning, and then came up to snuggle me, and I fell back asleep just as the sunlight was starting to creep through the trees that shelter my window from the street.

And last night, again. But nothing like babies this time. Last night I was an assassin. Don't ask - it was one of those vivid, shifting dreams where it's suddenly winter and you're in Minnesota and then you're creeping around a house/building/warehouse and you're killing people. I went down a faux-grass (astroturf) slide like a fish and killed a Japanese guy with crazy hair and a nice suit who happened to be a better at imitating fish movements than me.

That was probably really weird for you, so: Imagine a dark room with a giant, twisty slide that's not a slide at all, but rather an astroturf covered ramp, and in order to get down it with your gun in your hand, you have to flop like a fish. (I'm not even graceful in my dreams. Great.)

This is the prime example of why I'll never work for the CIA. I'm not graceful, I'm bad at stealthily fish-flopping, and I have a conscience.

Usually, these wild dreams mean I have a lot on my mind and that I'm overtired. Surprise! Guess what? Both are correct.

The Chicago trip was so worth it, but it nearly killed me, even though I got to spend most of Monday asleep on the couch (as much as I hated missing work, it was so nice to veg out and watch bad television).

Anyway, I'm hoping to get caught up on my sleep this weekend. Babysitting means I'm usually exhausted by the time I get done, so there's little chance I'll want to go out dancing (which so bums me out - I haven't had one of those wild, reckless and possible regrettable [just kidding] nights in ages). Which means sleep - definitely necessary since I have to work essentially a full day tomorrow. The 9-5 hours I missed on Monday and then more babysitting!

Maybe I'll be able to get to the park before I babysit on Sunday. Or maybe I'll get to work and log more hours! (That's ambitious - it won't really happen and we all know it. I'll sleep, I'll probably make some pasta, I'll be slow to get going - and by then, my weekend will be over.)

But I'm excited for real work tomorrow because I am in creativity mode and thus more prone to devoting my attention to the task of brochure creation. We'll see how it actually turns out.

The Chicago Trip

I didn't blog about my Chicago trip last time, either.

I didn't take any pictures this time, which I'm kind of bummed about.

I think it's because I never know what to say. I don't want to say too much, but I feel like saying too little would damage the experience.

It was perfect.

S picked me up at the airport like a gentleman. He was right on time, too. I misread the text directing me to a quieter pick up location, so he had to do an airport loop to fetch me.

Saturday included a grocery store run, sushi and BLTs for brunch (don't ask - it made me very happy), a softball game - I forgot my sunglasses and nearly died in the heat, and his dad's birthday party. I was determined not to be stressed, and so I wasn't. (That's worked twice this weekend, but failed miserably once. So I'm shooting 2 for 3 on mastering stress.)

It was a very lovely evening. I spent it eating chocolate cake and talking to a million people. I reminded his grandmother that we'd met previously - when she told me she wanted to trip a 4th grader at a basketball game. It was great. I really hope that the consensus was solidly in my favor at the end of the evening.

Sunday was a calm day. I made that watermelon salad and headed to a friend's BBQ. I forgot how hard it is to park in Edgewater (just south of Rogers Park!). The BBQ had been moved inside, thank g-d, because it was miserably warm outside. I went outside to inspect the new grill, stayed outside for about five minutes, and came directly back in.

Then we headed to his mom's for dinner. His mom is also wonderful.

After one too many White Russians, I declared that we need to leave "now!" And so he took me home. That's when, overwhelmed by my own emotions, I began to cry. Such a noob mistake, I can't believe I did that. At least I made it back to the safety of his house so I won't be known in his house as "the girl who cried" for the rest of my life.

Upon missing my flight and spending the morning laying on his couch, sweating in the blistering AC-less heat and sipping a Gatorade, I realized that perhaps the night before hadn't gone so terribly. And by "hadn't gone so terribly," I mean exactly the opposite.

In the end, it was nice to have some time to chat about it. Being able to talk things out before you fly a thousand miles is really helpful. I informed him that I am indeed a girl, I do cry sometimes, and that it doesn't get any worse than what he witnessed (drunk tears are so attractive, let me tell you - nothing says "I'm a great girl, I swear" like puffy, red eyes, frizzy lion hair, and rings of mascara).

His response? "You were mad at me for things I hadn't even done [yet]!"

Ah, welcome to life with the opposite sex, my dear.

I had forgotten how much I love that city. I love the intensity, the illusion of calm, the people, the nights. I didn't get to the lake, to the Bean, anywhere, really, but I went everywhere I needed to go. The nights slipped away from me, standing on a rooftop overlooking the city - lights all around, never-ending noise. And the mornings broke beautiful, warm, sensational.
I felt so alive.

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.