#MeWhenTheyPlayMyJam

In my dream he slides into the thick black fluid that fills the tiled pool. At next glance it is clear, chlorinated water. At next glance opaque globules are drifting past my legs. I must keep them separate before they can all congeal again.

In my dream my pile of papers has the notification for my hospital in it somewhere so I keep shuffling through them. If I can drill out the graphite rod I’ve found, I can insert the headphone jack.

In my dream the stationary is either stitched-together pieces of salvaged note paper or folder board. You assemble it yourself.

In my dream: a pipe.

In my dream I should feel tired after swimming through the mud in the racing competition, but I feel ready to press on as we enter the next phase: wending our way through multiple kids’ birthday parties.

In my dream my sweetheart is so big, they fill the two-seat row. I love to be next to them.

In my dream a parent arrives with a complaint about the card an employee at the health club allowed their child to make. I have no patience for their vindictiveness.

In my dream, three elder butches hang at the bar, flirting with each other. They are faculty happy in their pocket of community. When I walk up, they greet me and I buy us a round.

In my dream the syrup is thick and my eyes are blurred.

In my dream we get back and have to carry two huge taffeta gowns back to the recesses of the apartment which turns out to be under the control of an eastern European gangster. Entering his territory is tense and turns into a standoff where I am jabbing the handle of a paintbrush into his back, pretending it’s a gun. Luckily he finds this funny and lets us through.