In my dream the plans for the dress are rolled up and hidden under my clothes. Now all I have to do is make my way down through all the flat white floors of the building to escape.

In my dream I point out that my student assistant has covered all of my work surfaces with their homework projects, which triggers  protests and a chase across the entire campus.

In my dream the game’s taffeta dress attracts five coins every time it’s on.

In my dream Phil has lost his keys in the warehouse. In a soothing gesture I suggest we get noodles for dinner. Then he is Lauren and we are at the library on 81st. She asks me if I have a copy of Altman’s Buffalo Bill. I do, but I put it in storage somewhere. There is a men’s bathhouse in the basement.

In my dream I trudge through the downtown queues of  J and R to pay for the equipment I had ordered. I see the back of Phil’s head in the distance. My legs feel thick. Later her son portions out dabs of meat warm lumpia.

Yesterday I turned 65. Among other things I made this drawing.

In my dream I improvise a parody wildlife documentary directly into the camera.

In my dream I pull the loose tooth from my mouth. It is narrow and brown, like a hunk of bark from my jaw. At last, I think.

In my dream we walk into the diner and she is seated on a white chair in the back. Windows hold out reflections.

In my dream a red flashlight spins into orbit, sliding under a briefcase. I go on the side door and touch a guy’s wig who is in the show, to be annoying.

In my dream I take my CPAP right off.