Straight No Chaser

Clouds

inexplicably, i dreamed about babies last night. two older women and i were more or less in line to be c-sectioned. they went first, and then it was my turn, and somehow the first one--a boy--came early and painlessly, and then they took the second one like they were removing my appendix, out from beneath the right side of my rib cage. and it was a girl, which was a relief even though my husband (waiting upstairs) and i already had a daughter (shock and mystery!), and then i looked at the two babies together in their bassinet, adorable, brown skin and giant eyes, and then i asked, with all the unconditional adoration of new motherhood, "hey, is it just me, or is the girl kind of fat?"

and the faceless doctor said no, they both looked fine, but there i was, already planning ways to put her, the girl, on a diet because i did not want a fat child. how wildly inappropriate is that.

i've been invited to the english national honor society, which, depending whom you ask, either is or isn't something i should be proud of. marcus will be happy for me, i think, but it's not like winning a presidential election or anything, so i haven't told him yet. he has this idea that i'm self-conscious about how uneven we are, or something, and he keeps trying to prop up my spirits--"well, the night after we take the lsat, that'll be a fun conversation. you're gonna beat my score by damn near thirty points." which is probably true, but inconsequential, so i wish he'd quit saying shit like that.

i could stand to do laundry. i could stand to clean up. i could stand to logg off writing.com and get cracking on this research proposal and annotated bibliography that should have been on some professor's desk twenty-four hours ago.

so then, i don't know what's wrong with me. because i'm not doing any of those things.