Happy Sunday. I wanted to say something along the lines of another note, another week under our belt. But then I realized that technically Sunday is the start of the week, not the end. We have been conditioned to think that Sunday is the “sabbath” but it is actually Saturday. There is a lesson in that.
There are so many things that we “hold to be true” but the truth of the matter is, most if not all, are not true. Only yesterday, I learned that the atomic model of a nucleus with protons, neutrons and electrons orbiting around the nucleus, is likely false. Also, viruses don’t exist.
Like unicorns, we have dreamt up these “model” or “explanations” but we have not ever found them, let alone confirmed them, in real life. Viruses and atomic sub-particles are made up imaginations by scientists just like unicorns are made up imaginations by Hollywood. There goes the Higg’s boson, the so-called God particle. It’s probably an infinitesimally small chip off the atom block.
Mind blowing.
Apparently Science (with a capital “s”) has been operating in the realm of science fiction for quite some time now, without recourse to pesky things like inquiry, logic, reason, and above all evidence. Maybe that explains what is happening when I try to “shake you out of your slumber.”
Speaking of slumber and dreaming things up, I had another weird dream last night. I had one the night before that but I decided not to “share” it with the group. Instead, I called Sulafa last night and recounted it to her, hoping against hope that she will “recognize” it and spontaneously snap to reality.
In that dream, Sulafa featured as a young, slim twenty-something working for Booz Allen, eating in full view of my face while I watched. Common theme here is…The Eating. I told Sulafa that dream because maybe we can “kill the beast” together, so to speak. I told her my arms don’t extend far enough for me to encircle it and take control. I need everyone’s help, to put eyes on the situation, to report honestly their observation from their vantage point, their perspective. Together we can conquer evil. Such is the magnitude of what I am dealing with. I told her my life is sheer terror and even prisoners of war are not subject to such inhumanity thanks to the Geneva convention. I am hounded within an inch of my life, down to my dreams.
The dream from last night had some recurring themes. Strictly speaking, I really should call it a nightmare. Once again I have a baby girl in my charge that needs feeding. We are in some sort of medical facility and there’s someone comatose on a table or bed. That person, whether man or woman is unclear, is the true parent of the baby. But I am looking after her like my own and I feel all the motherly instincts towards the baby even though she is not mine and I did not adopt her. It is just a dream.
At some point, I decide I need to find Kamal and give him the baby. I go across the hall to another room and open the door. Kamal is meeting with some guy and it looks like a serious meeting but I need a break. I tell him that and he understands. He reaches for the baby but the baby is upset. She hits out at me for abandoning her but my mental state needs a reprieve.
In the room of the unconscious patient, a technician performs a CT scan of sort. We see the skeleton of the victim and his/her rib cage is highlighted as being made of metal, not bone. That seemed like an important and unexpected finding in the dream.
There are other details in the dream that are curious but seem to matter somehow. Like the sheets that I wrap myself with when I was holding the baby, I guess to protect my clothes from her burbs and vomit as is typical with babies. I mostly use a white sheet; that is the one I hand to Kamal when I gave him the baby. Another sheet I use is best described as “hospital green” but I only used it once.
There were some other people milling around, maybe they are visiting the patient. The whole affair is very Sudanese in feel. All the people are Sudanese, with all the requisite social norms and fake politeness. They are all men except for me.
I don’t know what any of this means. It was just a dream/nightmare. But I am convinced this all means something important. I am also convinced that you know and understand exactly what these “dreams” mean. Is the recurring theme of the girl that needs feeding Maysa? Is Maysa batshit crazy? Is Maysa stealing from me while you watch idly? Most importantly, why don’t you stop Maysa from doing this abomination? It needs to stop now.
I already told you about bucket number 1 and 2. “Bucket #1 is the Crazy Bucket” with crazy things contained in it. “Bucket #2 is the In Real Life Bucket” with crazy things happening for real.
These dreams straddle the two. I am having these dreams in real life. However, the dreams themselves are insane and don’t exist in the real world. Anyone know where dreams come from? I believe that is an outstanding question. As in, we do not know the answer. But it is also a good question lol.
I want to tell you about the stuff in the crazy bucket. Can you handle it? If I tell you about the noise echoing in the background of my life movie like an avant-garde soundtrack, will you dismiss me as a nutter? Because there are so many loud voices but it is hard to make out the words.
I do hear “sorry” a lot and I believe it is mainly coming from Maysa. I hear her screaming like the witch from the Wizard of Oz. She makes these “under her breath”, babyish disgusting sounds.
There’s a “microphone guy” who is like the announcer in a sporting event. Maybe he’s stopping play to hand out red cards or egregious violations. There’s also the “that’s it guy.” He just says “that’s it” as if something has been figured out, solved. Talk about false hope.
Sometimes I think I hear Kamal and Sulafa. Sulafa is speaking quietly like a parent pleading with her child to let go of a toy that’s not hers to keep. So sensible of Sulafa. Kamal just keeps shouting for people, mainly for his brother but he has two. Which one, I wonder? He also argues with Maysa a lot and says “wrong” to her. She keeps saying “again” which is why I said it’s her favorite word before. He also has been calling for “normal” a lot lately. Sometimes Maysa calls for normal.
By the way, most of these words are spoken in Arabic. Sometimes Kamal calls for Sulafa or Mahasin, my mom. Incidentally, that’s the same name as Mona’s mom. But Mona’s mom also goes by Suzanne. I also have a cousin who has not left Sudan whose name is surprisingly Anglo-Saxon and it is Suzanne! Mona, like me, also started life in Eagle Heights, Madison and her Dad also has a PhD in Agriculture from UW-Madison. Just like our Dad. Note these coincidences. I think that qualifies as crazy shit IRL, hence bucket #2. Right?
I don’t know what you make of all of this. If you are normal and live in the normal world (a normie) all of this sounds unreal and make-believe. But I assure you it is real.
Pretending these facts are not true is not how to do science. It is the domain of fairy tales. That is not intelligence or natural. It is a perversion. We need to do something to solve the fundamental problem once and for all. But first things first. Anyone know how to stop Maysa from her nightly feedings?