I had a really vivid dream last night about grrl. Really vivid. I’m sure it was fueled in part by the guilt I suffer for pooping on her blog and calling the new Pope a Nazi. So okay – he is not a Nazi and served, probably against his will or desire only long enough to figure out how to escape. Or something like that. Whatever. I don’t actually care about the Pope because I’m not Catholic and I’m not a Jew and I’m not really anything although I do strongly feel that the last thing this world needs is another strict religious fundamentalist! For the honest love of God (and I mean that) we need more tolerance and recognition of 21st Century realities and less Catholic, anti-birth control, anti-gay dogma. But I digress.
What I really wanted to talk about is my dream of grrl. I’m pretty sure you all (all 4 of you) know who I am talking about but in the event you don’t I am talking about getupgrrl of Chez Miscarriage. This is a woman who is so smart and so articulate that I’m pretty sure if she had one of those memory foam pillows it would go completely flat and be about 1/100th of an inch thick in the morning because her brain surely must weigh a ton. This is a woman who can take tragedy and loss and write about it so that her audience laughs and cries at the same time. She does this repeatedly with the kind of skill that would bring her a Pulitzer at the very least should she ever publish her work through the standard channels. She is a master of righteous indignation, humor, irony, charactiture and parody. Whatever she writes about is done with a full command and deep knowledge of her subject (unlike some blog commenters who just toss a little verbal poop around and leave). Last night she dominated my dreams and it seemed like a more interesting thing to write about than my recent experience managing the food for our local Junior Prom. I am going to send grrl an email regarding this post but I will not post a comment on her blog pointing to it because that would be blog whoring of the worst kind.
In my dream I was at grrls apartment – a teeny, messy little studio. I wondered why her husband didn’t live there but it somehow made sense because they are both so very busy and need their space. I was visiting her to apologize for making an inappropriate post on her blog and to go out to lunch with her. This also made sense as is true of most of the incongruous, illogical things that populate my dreams. I was very curious about her life and wanted to peruse her bookshelf but more than anything I wanted her mother to call and speak through the answering machine so I could just listen to what she had to say. I kept asking grrl why her mother hadn’t called – was this going to be the one day when the woman didn’t call every 15 minutes? Geeez – I just have all the luck. Grrl and I chatted about this and that and I think we were trying to figure out how to fit a baby into that little, teeny apartment but it wasn’t a major focus. What I really remember was how the place looked. It was very messy. The bed was unmade, there were books on every surface and the apartment was just so tiny – so completely inadequate for the person it housed.
I suppose the significance of the dream is that my own world is too tiny and too full of crap and I’m not really getting what I want but it was much more fun to experience that from the perspective of hanging out with getupgrrl and wishing her Mom would call. I wonder what she would have said?
So thanks for the inadvertant invite, grrl and sorry for the Nazi post.
ps- the title of this post is also the title of a book by Nuala Ofaolain, a sort of off beat but interesting Irish writer. It only seems right to give her proper attribution.