It must've been the heat that reminded me of the typical San Francisco October weather... or my need to go back home or possibly a need to hit things hard (get your mind out of the gutter), but I had a dream about an SF Giants baseball player yesterday.
Carlos is berating me in Spanish (which I somehow fully understand). He refuses to have his little sister, a natural talent like himself, who cannot switch-hit with consistent numbers from both sides. We're at the batting cages--public batting cages--and here he is, practically flogging me, using his bat as a cane, other hand on hip, declaring that if I can't hit--that I should change my last name. Two hours, he locks me in these cages. Only after the skin on my palms starts blistering (because I shouldn't wear gloves until I understand the reverberations of my bat when I do hit the ball well) does he let me out. While we walk to the parking lot he tells me that he's satisfied with my progress, that I can keep our surname, and then makes me some bomb-ass homemade lechon back at his house.
Yeah... I really don't know what this is about. I really don't. But that lechon was awesome. The dream was so vivid--the brown/orange dirt at the batting cages, the vibration of a hit going up your arm, the loud yelling... the blue sky, light breeze with an ocean scent. It was like a freakin' movie and I was Girl Friday.
...Yeah... I believe I'm pretty close to losing my marbles. 0_o
Gotta listen to this version... the sadness and pain in Sara Bareilles' voice... oh man... (at least the first verse and chorus...)
Sitting on the dock of the Bay...
Wasting time.
No comments:
Post a Comment