Dream Me Baby One More Time...
Published by J. M. Adkison under on 7:16 AM
Well its been a good month and a half since I last wrote anything-bit of a shoddy work for a blogger such as my-self-which isn't saying much at all since I just started blogging a few months ago. But now that I am home and my labtop is...once again...on the fritz, I must battle and duel my sisters for control of the home computer-and I usually lose.
Yet, the highly detestable and greatly ignoble sport of soccer does serve its purposes as my sisters are away at soccer camp. So here I am once again.
Summer has not been laxed in sufficiently supplying my brain with all sorts of oddities and perplexities during that time between sleep and awake. Or plainly put, I'm still having a whole lot of wierd dreams.
Let's take last night's phantasmagorical (not sure if it fits-but I love that word) adventure into the world of dreams. In this dream I had an older brother who was married and was expecting their first child. I believe my parents were on vacation and my sisters were nowhere to be seen (probably at soccer camp). I never did meet my brother's pregnant wife-she was always in the next room behind a closed door. I did get to see this older brother (which I have always wanted) and he looked a lot like Jim from the Office-so I am sort of wondering if Pam might be the expecting sister-in-law in the next room. Well, whoever the wife is-she is very old-fashioned and wants to have her baby in the house without any medications and no doctors-the sort of kind they had in olden days where they pretty much screamed the baby out of their womb. Oh, and this wife also wants a midwife.
So we hire a midwife. We hire Britney Spears.
Ms. Spears has decided to take some time off from creating her masterful music and instead delve into the craftmanship of midwifery. So, THE Britney Spears comes to live with us. I am showing her around the house, introducing her to the various garden patches and showing her the interstate that just so happens to be paved right in front of our house. As we watch the cars zoom by, the sun painting the sky red as it sets to light the rest of the world, we hear one of Britney's latest singles playing in a car that is driving by. I can't really remember what the song was-in fact-I don't think she has even sung it yet.
So I ask: "Is it wierd hearing your voice on the radio"
She answers: "It is always wierd."
We return to the house and sit on the couch watching my older brother make goofy faces and juggle various sets of china across the living room.
Yet, the highly detestable and greatly ignoble sport of soccer does serve its purposes as my sisters are away at soccer camp. So here I am once again.
Summer has not been laxed in sufficiently supplying my brain with all sorts of oddities and perplexities during that time between sleep and awake. Or plainly put, I'm still having a whole lot of wierd dreams.
Let's take last night's phantasmagorical (not sure if it fits-but I love that word) adventure into the world of dreams. In this dream I had an older brother who was married and was expecting their first child. I believe my parents were on vacation and my sisters were nowhere to be seen (probably at soccer camp). I never did meet my brother's pregnant wife-she was always in the next room behind a closed door. I did get to see this older brother (which I have always wanted) and he looked a lot like Jim from the Office-so I am sort of wondering if Pam might be the expecting sister-in-law in the next room. Well, whoever the wife is-she is very old-fashioned and wants to have her baby in the house without any medications and no doctors-the sort of kind they had in olden days where they pretty much screamed the baby out of their womb. Oh, and this wife also wants a midwife.
So we hire a midwife. We hire Britney Spears.
Ms. Spears has decided to take some time off from creating her masterful music and instead delve into the craftmanship of midwifery. So, THE Britney Spears comes to live with us. I am showing her around the house, introducing her to the various garden patches and showing her the interstate that just so happens to be paved right in front of our house. As we watch the cars zoom by, the sun painting the sky red as it sets to light the rest of the world, we hear one of Britney's latest singles playing in a car that is driving by. I can't really remember what the song was-in fact-I don't think she has even sung it yet.
So I ask: "Is it wierd hearing your voice on the radio"
She answers: "It is always wierd."
We return to the house and sit on the couch watching my older brother make goofy faces and juggle various sets of china across the living room.