I am looking forward to my resurrection. I am looking forward to clawing out of the loamy, half-packed dirt and feeling the cold winter air on my face. To accepting winter by putting my hot little hand in a pile of snow until it burns backwards.
What is the limit of how much you love me?
Last night, I had a big dream. It was unexpectedly vivid, unexpectedly prolonged, unexpectedly memorable. It centered around me having a kid. My own. The actual action of giving birth took place, but as it was a dream, I didn’t suffer to long or linger in the logistics of it. I just ended up with a kid whose father was someone I couldn’t quite recall. I couldn’t have picked him out of a lineup. An amalgamation, surely, of every available masculine energy I’d ever took a shine to. It was odd to hold it. I was proud and happy about it. It was a little boy with the oddest, most awfully surreal name: Tagaragua Nicaragua. Who decided that, I have no idea, it wasn’t me. I remember thinking we would have to get that changed. Sounds more like a scientific name, a genus and species rather than a newborn. I explained that we could call him Tag…for now. He was a very sweet, almost plasticine baby that glowed ever so slightly like you could only see him through a gauzy, soft focus lens. A baby Jesus-y looking baby. I showed him to my aunt, and her delight with me and this squirmy little thing all swaddled up in dish towels still gives me the shivers half a day later. I showed it to my grandfather and he was just as happy. Everyone seemed fine with the fact that I would turn up with a kid. Everyone seemed beyond fine…delighted. And then the kid started talking. I suppose that’s when he informed me what his name was. I asked my mother if it was weird for a baby to talk on the first day. She said it was fine, and it has smart parents. Then he started wriggling so much, I set him on the floor and he started stretching like was Stretch Armstrong and almost walking.
I woke up completely weirded out. This morning, I learned that my grandfather had gone to the hospital last night. Surely it’s only one of those connections that means something because I noticed it and I’ve been thinking about him, and maybe subconsciously, about progress on the whole life evolution thing and that might mean a kid. I don’t know. It’s not an uncommon thing to dream about. My grandad’s fine. It does make you think about when that dream ever gets to become reality. What has to be done to make it a reality, beyond, you know, the obvious. This makes me rather tired after a long day.
You have to press. This is when you have to kick down the door.
Let this just serve it proof that despite all doubts, I made it home safe.