Wednesday, December 22, 2004

The Entry I Was Going to Write Yesterday, But Was Too Shook Up To Do So

As I mentioned in my previous post, I am severely sleep-deprived -- not earth shattering news, especially to those who suffer from insomnia. Many, many people suffer as I do, and I’m sure they are sympathetic, understand exactly how terrible this affliction can be. But there is one difference between how my brain handles sleep deprivation and how most others’ do -- if I am lucky enough to drift off for a few precious moments, I always -- always -- dream about giving birth.

The other night was no exception. I’d spent most the night fitfully dozing off and on, comatose, body paralyzed with exhaustion, yet aware of the cat purring on my chest, her nose-air fluttering my eyelashes (she enjoys sleeping on my chest, her furry face perhaps a half inch from mine -- I do believe she wants to climb inside my mouth, which is a terrifying thought, one that may be attributing to my insomnia), and during one of my rare moments of total unconsciousness, I dreamt.

I was heavily pregnant, lumbering along in a field of corn, wearing a ripped Sex Pistols T-shirt and Doc Martins, when suddenly, the urge to push overwhelmed me. At that moment, I knew I had to get to a hospital, so, of course, I found myself walking the corridors of a maternity ward, my ass hanging out of a too small gown. I was ignored by the nurses and doctors floating past me (I’m always ignored in my birthing dreams), despite my cries for help. So I lay on the floor, right there in front of David Bowie and John Kerry, and began to grunt like a wild boar, pushing with all my might. I was so over the whole humiliation thing, considering I’d done this maybe three hundred times before.

And miraculously, without pain, without blood or fluid or flying F-words (why can’t real-life birth be this easy?), I produced a squalling infant at the feet of David Bowie. He nodded and smiled as if to say “good job,” then promptly disappeared. At this point, I had no reason to care about John Kerry’s whereabouts, for I was upset that the baby was still attached to me, the umbilical cord swaying, undulating. Due to being ignored by hospital staff, I realized that I had to somehow sever the cord myself, and I was filled with revulsion, for I had no cutting implements. I did not want to bite the cord, did not want to touch that alien thing with my bare fingers, no way in hell. I had no choice but to get up, baby cradled in my arms, and go in search of a pair of scissors.

As luck would have it, there happened to be a pair sticking out of the wall. Oh joy! I set about the task ahead with some trepidation, but managed, with eyes closed, to swiftly separate myself from my child. It was then that I felt comfortable enough to revel in my baby’s beauty, to take in every inch of her sweet fatness and rosebud skin, her downy blonde hair and perfect little fingers, and oh, I did. I did. And upon discovering the tiny cloven feet, I began to scream.

Baby Girl was not as she first appeared to be -- Baby Girl was in fact, Baby Cow.

Evidently, I was the unwitting guinea pig in a revolutionary gene-splicing research project, and this excited the heretofore inattentive staff, so much so, there was a great celebration with balloons and a marching band, and grotesquely made-up clowns.

I woke in tears, the dear scent of my baby cow lingering, and I wept even harder as I entered full consciousness. The memory of her haunted me throughout the rest of the day, and even as I write this, I miss her.

Creepy? You bet. But she was my baby cow, dammit. You couldn't possibly understand.

7 Comments:

At 11:57 AM, Blogger anon said...

You're right, I couldn't possibly understand. With me it's usually a pig. They do have the hooves, at least.

http://www.hogritude.com

 
At 12:03 PM, Blogger trisha said...

Wow! Terrific story. I mean, freaky dream, well-told.

 
At 2:41 PM, Blogger April said...

Great dream. Very mooooving.

Heh.

Ok, well, at least you've got a lifetime supply of free milk?

Utterly ridiculous.

Sorry. Sometimes I can't help myself.

 
At 12:49 PM, Blogger MilkMaid said...

Guess this is a good post for me, being The MilkMaid, to step up and say hi. :-D

You have a great blog, I really enjoy your writing. Now your dreams on the other hand...well.....take some Excedrine PM, mebbe that'll squash the dreams.

 
At 5:39 PM, Blogger Jay said...

Sometimes I'm asked to interpret dreams. I wouldn't even want to try figuring yours out.

 
At 10:44 PM, Blogger Anne Basso said...

When I was pregnant with my first child, I dreamed I gave birth to a banana sheet cake. I understand, I really do. He was my cake, and I was very concerned that he not get wet. I've started a series of blog posts concerning pregnancy. I've got to get around to that dream post. Seeing as I'm in my fourth pregnancy, I've had some doozeys!

 
At 2:22 PM, Blogger Clive Barker said...

I'm looking for copies of Scared Naked Magazine Volume 1 Issue 3. It's now out of print and Anthony was not able to get me any more copies. Now I'm hoping I can PayPal someone to give me their old copy(ies)! I have a tale in that issue and I rather liked the stories by the other authors, especially you. It's pretty important to me and I'd like very much to get
at least 5 copies. I've tried a few stores, but no one seems to have an idea... I'm resorting to begging authors now... Any ideas? I love your work, by the way. Quite different than the writers I've gotten to know lately...

 

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