I be dancing

Grin.

I dreamt in Spanish last night.

Grin.

Actually I doubt it was the first time, I really do, but you have to understand that until recently I, whose buttoned-down picture appeared not only on my own corporate mahogany desk but deep, deep in Webster's - alongside the word repressed if I recall correctly, I hadn't remembered a single dream in years. I bolted when people started swapping vivid dream stories. "Oops, I think I hear my mother calling."

Then one night maybe a month ago, someone asked me what my dreams were like. So that night I reminded myself - well, and I asked, to be honest, ever so sweetly - excuse me, unconscious? ahem, since they are MY dreams, do you think maybe....just maybe?

My fall from blogging will soon make sense. I don't sleep so much anymore. Keep waking up and scribbling stuff QUICKLY before I lose it.

Be careful what you ask for.

Meanwhile, I have been very worried about my Spanish. I was missing it terribly for a while, craving castellano conversation. I've been thinking way too much in English lately, for a lot of reasons. I'm sure this is a whole post for another day, but my Spanish voice isn't my English voice. They are both me but they just don't express the same things. In either language I am always stopping, word hoarder that I am, to say, ok, so, I don't have a word in THIS language, but in the other, I'd tell you..... (Annoying habit, I know, I know. What do people who speak 5 language DO, exactly? How do they balance five images for everything they ever talk about, no two quite the same? Anybody know?))

Anyway, dreams. Last night I woke, started scribbling frantically and realized a full page and a half later that I was rambling away in Spanish, about a dream in Spanish.

Made my night. She's still in there.

And she speaks beautifully in dreams. Flows easy, rrrrrrs and jjjjjjs and oh, that perfect intonation. She sings like a native Castilian.