What I Dreamt

I’m not going to apologize. I’ve simply not been inspired. And I’ve been sulking. Really. Completely misplaced my mind's eye. Call it writer’s block. Whatever. I’d like to think it’s this cold (and the cough that preceded it) that induced not only headaches and low-grade, night-time fevers over the course of the last few days, but also acute pain in and around the right ear.

I opened my laptop the other day with the sincere intention of putting my thoughts down on electronic paper. Unfortunately, not a one came. So yesterday, after a late lunch in Serendra (preceded by a doctor’s visit), I picked up a small notebook from Fully Booked on which I have resolved to scribble little inspirations as they come to me during the day and from day to day. Fodder for the imagination. Serves, too, as a reminder to complete those little dumb-things-I-gotta-do.

I happened to pick up a cute, little hardbound journal with Oz’s Dorothy (and Toto), her back turned to the reader as she sits on a fence and looks out into … well …. I dunno what … on the cover. The journal announces that it contains “What I dreamt” (I picked this over “What I Thought” which I thought was really uninspired).

So no more excuses? My first entry: Get Amy Winehouse’s Album (a big winner at the recent Grammys). I hear it’s totally enthusing. A guaranteed upper. Just what the doctor ordered.

Precocious

Watching the quarterfinals tennis match between Rafa Nadal and Lleyton Hewitt 2 weeks ago with Maia and Hubby, I remark that, for sure, Rafa will win. Maia asks me which one is Rafa and I promptly point out the No. 2 seed to her. She says suddenly, “I like the other one; what’s his name?” I say “Lleyton” and ask her why she likes him. She says matter-of-factly, “Because he’s handsome.” Cut to last weekend and we see an “American Idol” plug on tv. Maia watches American Idol with me each week, you see (last year, whenever I miss an elimination episode, she would be the one to update me on who got eliminated – she knew all the contestants by their first names!). So I ask who her favorite judge is. She replies, “Simon.” I ask her why. “Because he’s so handsome,” she replies, again, matter-of-factly (like, “don’t you see it?”). Then last Sunday, she sees Ashton Kutcher in a magazine. She says, “That’s Tita Audine’s Prince Charming.” I say, “Yeah … He’s so handsome, isn’t he?” “No,” she replies too quickly. Surprised, I ask her to confirm, “He’s NOT handsome?” “No,” she says again, a bit curtly this time … Then she says, yet again, matter-of-factly, “He’s YUMMY…”