ז' ניסן תשס"ט
Last night I dreamt.
There were preparations going on for a formal awards-like ceremony-meeting, but it wasn't quite ready to begin yet. At first, I was alone in a line of people who had arrived for the ceremony-meeting. There were many nationalities of people there. I had the distinct impression of Israelis being among the crowd. I had already entered into the big ceremony room's entryway, but hadn't found my seating place yet. Then, it was announced that it wasn't time for the ceremonies to officially begin yet, so everyone could go back outside and wait in the fancy restaurant dining area and have dinner first while preparations were being completed.
Then, I had a date beside me as I went up to a table in the dining room area. I wasn't comfortable with my dress suddenly, as if someone had ripped it or something. Sensing my discomfort, my date put his coat over me so that the rip in my dress was covered. Then we sat down with a few other couples.
Suddenly, I was in a second room with tables in it. I was sitting there with several other women who filled the places at the table. My boss was sitting across from me. The focus was on my French manicure - which was beautiful. My boss was going to fix me up with a fresh manicure. She had a little pot in her hands on the table. Inside the pot was a white pasty material, something like, but not quite like, the acrylic the manicurists use to strengthen long nails and to keep the tips from breaking. She stirred the pot before her, swirling the material inside it around and around. As I watched her, I didn't get a fresh manicure. Instead, the tip of the nail on the finger next to my pinky on my right hand broke off as she was watching me intently.
I frowned. I was thinking about how now I would have to go to the ceremony with a broken nail and a messed up manicure. (You see, I diligently care for my nails now that I can and get a French manicure every two weeks to keep my nails in good shape.) I sighed with resignation. I wasn't going to enjoy the ceremony now that my nail was broken and my manicure was messed up. Such is the vanity of a woman - LOL. I derive pleasure from my beautifully French manicured fingernails.
Just then, I heard a voice say in my ear "don't worry, the Israelis are going to pay to get your nails done." Behind it, I heard another voice remark to the first voice who had spoken to me, "those crazy Israelis!" The second voice obviously thought the Israelis were crazy to pay to get my nails done. I merely wondered why they were going to do it.
I woke up. And went back to sleep.
Then I dreamt a ghostbuster-like dream. I probably had this dream because of the article I read on Jameel's blog last night before I went to sleep. Nevertheless, a ghostbuster-like dream I dreamt. Jameel and his cohorts are Israelis. Hmm.
The ghosts were flying about doing things ghosts do - spook and chase and slime people. I hid under a pile of stuff from the one coming toward me so I wouldn't get slimed. He couldn't lift the stuff up to see if I was under it, so he poked his long green ghosty finger through it in places trying to feel if I was under there. He kept missing me, his finger poking onto the floor. Pretty soon, he decided I must not be under there and moved on.
I woke up.
What crazy dreams. BTW, I don't really have a broken fingernail or a messed up manicure. It's in perfect shape at the moment.
Hmm, I wonder ... hey, if there are any crazy Israelis out there who want to pay to get my nails done - (LOL) donate here:
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
ז' ניסן תשס"ט