Last night I dreamt that Royal, who hangs out with Hisb’Allah was elected French president by 60/40 margin. Ultimately – who cares, its just France, right?
A night before that I dreamt that I killed my baby. First me, mom and my sister were at Ben Gurion airport. I was very pregnant, and we lost truck of our largest suitcase. I had to chase it down the escalator.
Next I was sitting on the bottom of the steps of a steep hill near Mama’s Royal Café on Broadway in Oakland. I don’t believe there are steps at that location. People were passing by perhaps on their way to get breakfast. I had my stroller and my baby. I was trying to get her to latch on. I succeeded in breastfeeding her – somewhat — and burped her. Burping was easy. Then I put her back in the stroller and went to class.
The class was in Berkeley, and although I don’t recall the subject matter, it was ostensibly about race, class and gender. I had to put my baby in a bag before class, so that she stays quiet. I hanged the bag on my seat.
The class was finally over, and I left completely forgetting about my daughter. I think the class was in Dwinell hall, but maybe not. I remembered about my daughter when I was about to exit the building, and rushed upstairs. On the way up I saw an old friend of mine. He was waiting for the elevator. I felt compelled to small talk about how retarded the class was. Probably because that particular character is always compelled to find some sort of a middle ground between any two opinions, he found a way to argue that the class was somewhat OK. I finally made it back to the classroom and rushed to the bag.
My baby was inside the bag in another plastic bag that was a large replica of a cosmetics case I have. Clear plastic lead was steamy; the baby suffocated. I didn’t have any tears to weep.
I know what it means: I am reading about breastfeeding and childrearing books. I’m thinking that it’s all so difficult; I won’t be able to raise a child. I know I will loose a great deal of my independence as well.
My husband has more confidence in me. He thinks I will be a good mommy.
Post-delivery interpretation is here.