In my dream I am calculating the time needed to fly from Montreal so that I can catch a train in New York City and make it home. The overall mood is languid except for those moments when I remember I don’t have any tickets yet.

In my dream the end user agreement hovers in the center of my vision, immutable.

In my dream we’ve been working. We trust each other in the yellow light.

In my dream ten sleep masks hang on the wall. Stuffed into them are the personality reports. A Joan Armatrading song plays, warning me about his sinister side.

In my dream we trade lines until it’s gone.

#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.