Dear Journal,
I really appreciate Ma. I always hold back, not always but sometimes, before reproaching Pa, but never with Ma. I've told Ma and Pa some pretty mean things over the years. Yet, I'm accepted.
I love my parents.
I had a weird dream last night. I dreamt that I was on a bike with a guy and I told him to take the short cut (down the Prithvi road). The road was marked with black (the material you make Shiva Lingas with) murals all down the paved path, and the bike had to really slowly manouevre across these murals.
Then came a stairway. So my partner and I get off the bike and he carries it, while I hold the golden bike's rear (much like how one would caress a butt). We come upon the scene of an ancient building with bougainvilleas and its ramparts. We admire the scene. I tell this guy lots of films are shot at this scene very proudly.
Then my mom seeks my help to get up the stairs. I get on her rear and hold her ankles and help her get up the stairs by doing an act of juggling her feet. Then Shabana Azmi asks me to help her in a similar manner. I hold her by the ankles (juggling), up the stairs, into a blue room and I playfully continue to juggle her ankles. She turns around to me with a look that I'm getting too familiar.
I woke up.
What in the world does this ever mean?
Love,
Me.
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