blog post number thirty six.

Last night I dreamt I delivered a baby. I don't remember whose, someone I went to high school with, I think. It was so traumatic I woke up. I remember a few things about this dream, one being the smell. I can only describe it as "sweaty anus turd", which is what I think is what was happening when she was pushing out the baby. I was asked to deliver the baby because I was a nursing student, which is funny because technically I'm not even enrolled in a nursing program, yet. The possible ex-high-school-cohort was belly down on what looked like a folded down back seat of a car. I was pinned behind her, against the back of the car, but supposedly we were in a hospital. She was really quiet and sweaty. She pushed. I let the baby fall onto the floor, which was really close because we were in a car/hospital. I had to choke back vomit as someone else cut the cord. So, I guess all in all I didn't really deliver the baby as much as was trapped behind a shitting woman who pooed a baby. I woke up and my legs were sweaty.

My math class is the weirdest. The other day in the middle of a lecture, this zitty little boy one seat over, started nudging me. "Hey, are you a cop?", he said. I was like, "In the village people?". No, really I just sat there and stared at him. I said no. He was like, "Wanna buy some painkillers?". I thought hard for a minute, stared at his creepy prepubescent mustache, and said no. Ever since he hasn't stopped talking to me. The other day he brought in his photos he took while serving in Iraq. Pictures of dead bodies in the road smeared by tanks, random body parts strewn about. Why is he showing me these? Totes creeps. So, if you try to call me someday and I don't answer, I'm probably tied up in his basement in Whitehall.

Oh, Jon and I are opening a bed and breakfast in Puerto Vallarta, fyi.