I had a dream a couple of nights ago that you, the both of you, were growing taller. And taller. And taller. Until you were towering over all the other models. Erin, I saw your interview with Dan Patrick, but I don't think my dream has anything to do with that.
I have been ill. I guess all that driving around in the rain finally got to me, but it couldn't be helped because I had love letters to send. This time the Flu Virus Collective targeted the roof of my mouth, for a two-pronged attack on both my nose and voice. I believe the primary target was my voice, because it usually is. This time I was bombarded with a massive amount of sinus fluid, more than ever before. That stuff must not go down my throat, so I sat on the floor and let it drip into a small bucket. Yeah it's gross, but you don't have to watch. My Boss is Allah, not some corporate or government entity, so I have I have to fight to sing if necessary, and not use some lame excuse to take a day off. I managed to avoid infection of my voice alhamdulillah, but my nose is half of my singing. You try to say "Mmmmm" with a runny nose. I was able to finish the 2 hours of voice training today, but right after I felt so sick that I thought I was going to be bed ridden. But I managed to shake it off, and made some dough and paté. I'm feverish as I write this letter.
Of course I forgive you Julia. I don't expect you to give up your lap of luxury to be with me in the trenches of the front line. You're not a soldier. The Qur'an says that whoever cannot afford to marry must keep themselves chaste and wait until Allah provides them with the means. That was my first choice to begin with, but when you present me with "Now or Never", I'm going to choose "Now". I was serious when I said I would wait for you no matter how old you get. As long as you are chaste and faithful. The same goes to you, Erin.
Julia and Erin, you are my wives. I love you, I love you. And I need you, I need you.
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