Jahanshah Javid

I have been sick for the past 24 hours. Last night I had shivers, body ache, and severe diahrrea. (the word "severe" was added for extra grossness, so more people would read this and I would make more money. Let's say that's true. Is it not therefore also true that YOU crave gross stuff? We're even.)

(I can already tell that I would not have written this under normal circumstances. I'll blame it on my sickness.)

So I've been really sick. And I've put tons of chilly sauce on everything I've put into my mouth. So you can imagine what it feels like down there. I don't think I have had such a runny stomach since... I don't know, ever. This is the worst.

Every time I sit on the toilet I read a page or two of "Tales of Alhambra" (I know I should write the title in italics, but it's too much of a hassle). It's by Washington Irving, an American diplomat, who published it in 1832, back when Americans were curious and romantic about the rest of the world. It's kinda hard to read. Too many big words I don't understand. But I'm hangin in there. It's not as if I have a choice. It was the only book that was remotely interesting to me in Nico -- one of my nephew's library. (All three of them are sitting on a long couch playing a video game -- a World War II carnage. I've taken over the poor kid's room since I got to my sister's house in Chihuahua last Sunday. He doesn't mind. He and his brothers Teo and Robert, are such good kids. Miracles, really.)

(My sister Iran just came into the room and asked if I wanted to go out to a club tonight. I said sure. Then she added that she was talking to her friend on the phone and heard that a man was shot and killed an hour ago outside Home Depot. We don't care. We even heard that people were going to stay home tonight to protest against the growing violence. "What kind of protest is that? Staying home? That means you're scared," Teo said. Iran and I agree. Fuck it! We're going to the club!)

One thing about this book I read in the toilet: When I picked it up, I looked inside and I saw this note in my mother's handwriting on the title page:

TALES OF ALHAMBRA

bought in
Granada at the
Alhambra
by
Kristopher Kolumbus
24 November 2002

(Kristopher Kolumbus was my mother's last pen name before she died in Spain in 2003.)

She underlined certain words on many pages. Examples: "a faithful, cheery, kindhearted creature, full of saws and proverbs"..."full of adventure"... "We arrived after sunset" ... "drenched with showers"... "few cigars". Under one page, under these words "covered her head with roses" she drew a rose.

I woke up at least five times to go to the bathroom last night. Once on my way back to bed I even checked iranian.com to see if there were any comments in the moderation queue!

I felt better in the morning, but still very tired and weak. I slept most of the day. When I woke up an hour ago, I read Persian Westender's description of her dream ("Khaab  e Parishab") and it inspired me to write down my own weird dream. This is what I remember after I last woke up:

I was on a semi-loft inside a cabin house that looked almost like an abandoned barn. It was late in the afternoon and getting dark. I noticed Leva Zand and Sanam Dolatshahi (bloggers; I'm friends with both in real life) a few feet away from me. They asked me if they could come under my patoo and I said of course. (For some reason I was sitting under a patoo.) Sanam's thigh brushed against mine but I thought nothing of it. I swear!

We noticed that we weren't in an abandoned barn at all. We could see from above the yellow lights of the living room with a Christmas tree by the entrance and 2 or 3 adults. We were in someone's home without their permission. How were we going to get out of this place? Then Leva's cell phone started ringing and we panicked. We weren't caught by the occupants of the house, but moments later I was outside without Leva and Sanam.

I was walking on an asphalt-paved path by the same house. I saw the owners pass by. They were Americans, one of them a tall man in his late thirties with long wavy hair and a plaid red & black jacket. My presence there did not appear unusual to them. I was just a passer by.

As I was walking along I noticed a caged area with no ceiling. It was an enclosed part of a garden with chairs and a table surrounded by some flowers. What was strange about this was that there were two big cheetahs sitting there.

I was about to continue on this path when suddenly I saw the head of a white sheep stretched towards me. He looked so helpless. He couldn't get out of the "cage" and rescue himself from the two cheetahs, which I guess were going to eat him eventually.

The sheep was struggling so hard... his head and neck were out of the cage... He was pleading with me to save him. His tongue was out and his eyes were bulging with a look of horror.

I took a few pictures of this dramatic scene and walked away.

Isn't that terrible?