Dreams

There was something. A dream not from this odd morning, but from Sunday morning, with its thick pastries eaten at noon and sweaty pajamas until three. My sleep that morning was epic, hurried along by two Tylenol PM's and deep, thick, muddy, and long.

I was male. I was a boy I went to high school with. I was a boy who betrayed his mother and then fell in love with a woman in her fifties, someone with cloud-silver hair and eyes bright and seductive. I fell hard for her, and then I found myself in a bathtub, again myself, again female. The mother of the boy was so chagrined by the state of things that she plunged into a bottomless silo filled with water. She carried papers under her arm and leaped off the sharp edge of the silo, squinting her eyes against the bright sunlight dancing across the water.

The end of that one, then. There was another. But it's faded already, already crept back into my subconscious.