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Dreams:
1. That Jimmy Stewart, who was 100% conflated with the administrative head of my yeshivah, was involved in huge amounts of drug crime, and dub step clubbing. The dream was mostly him dancing dub step on Toronto subway platforms. I do not actually know what dub step is or where I could have heard this term.
2. That I entered TD bank and saw a huge secretary phone with multiple buttons on a small table. It was shaking, which caused the receiver to hover above its cradle. I went over and tried to push the receiver out of the air, but it just wouldn't work. A clerk reached her hugely long arm over and with sudden violence stamped my hand with a pictograph indicating that it is forbidden to jostle the phone. It was actually a brand and it burnt my hand horribly.
***
I came home today feeling cripplingly depressed, my default mood these days since there is so much pain to deal with. As I walked in the hallway, I hear Y. shout "Forbidden for Yonah to enter the kitchen!" He explains that he's preparing for me a special drink and I must guess what it is. "It's not poison. I think you'll like it, yes, I have an idea that you'll like it." He sticks his head out and cocks it to the side. "You seem like a woman who likes it." After a few moments again: "Don't worry, it's not poison."
I tell him okay, and that meantime I'll go say minhah.
In the end he can't wait and comes to see me while I'm still wearing my shel rosh and talith. He doesn't bat an eye at this, however, as to him it's somewhat normal, and hands me a cup. "But this is just milk," I say.
"IS IT?" he demands.
I smell it. "Yes."
He folds his arms and tells me to say shehakol and drink it. I do.
"What is it?" he asks again.
"It tastes like normal milk, maybe with a little sweetness added." I wonder if he put in a slight amount of sugar? It's the sort of thing he'd do. But he triumphantly revealed that it was goat milk which he bought specially for me. I told him to try some, and he did, and happily exclaimed that he likes it just as much as me.
This encounter made my day. Also the whole thing happened with him wearing his tefilin (which I gave him, my old pair) and a tiny talith which we gave him just a year or so ago, already too small for his body.
1. That Jimmy Stewart, who was 100% conflated with the administrative head of my yeshivah, was involved in huge amounts of drug crime, and dub step clubbing. The dream was mostly him dancing dub step on Toronto subway platforms. I do not actually know what dub step is or where I could have heard this term.
2. That I entered TD bank and saw a huge secretary phone with multiple buttons on a small table. It was shaking, which caused the receiver to hover above its cradle. I went over and tried to push the receiver out of the air, but it just wouldn't work. A clerk reached her hugely long arm over and with sudden violence stamped my hand with a pictograph indicating that it is forbidden to jostle the phone. It was actually a brand and it burnt my hand horribly.
***
I came home today feeling cripplingly depressed, my default mood these days since there is so much pain to deal with. As I walked in the hallway, I hear Y. shout "Forbidden for Yonah to enter the kitchen!" He explains that he's preparing for me a special drink and I must guess what it is. "It's not poison. I think you'll like it, yes, I have an idea that you'll like it." He sticks his head out and cocks it to the side. "You seem like a woman who likes it." After a few moments again: "Don't worry, it's not poison."
I tell him okay, and that meantime I'll go say minhah.
In the end he can't wait and comes to see me while I'm still wearing my shel rosh and talith. He doesn't bat an eye at this, however, as to him it's somewhat normal, and hands me a cup. "But this is just milk," I say.
"IS IT?" he demands.
I smell it. "Yes."
He folds his arms and tells me to say shehakol and drink it. I do.
"What is it?" he asks again.
"It tastes like normal milk, maybe with a little sweetness added." I wonder if he put in a slight amount of sugar? It's the sort of thing he'd do. But he triumphantly revealed that it was goat milk which he bought specially for me. I told him to try some, and he did, and happily exclaimed that he likes it just as much as me.
This encounter made my day. Also the whole thing happened with him wearing his tefilin (which I gave him, my old pair) and a tiny talith which we gave him just a year or so ago, already too small for his body.
