My dreams last night were of the wild kind. The first included a camp full of gauntlet like tests, only they were visual and mental rather than physical. One had a set of paper doors to break down that led to a room of babies sitting in carrying chairs, each behind their own curtain. Another had to do with a hair stylist and what one should do if one does not like the way the haircut and style is going in the middle of the session. There was also the address of a secret tap dancing party in the basement of an American Apparel that you were meant to remember long after the address had been given at a lecture with a distracting amount of extra shoes around the perimeter of the room.

To get to the camp we had to take a long bus ride. The bus itself was wider than a usual bus and had inside a number of wind chimes that kept the vibe mellow. There was a bus chaperone who liked the bus to be very quiet and who made us quiet down when we got too loud. My best friend was on the bus, chatting away, and my boyfriend was on the bus, listening to another person, a guy, chat away. When I talked, I felt ashamed about what I had to say. About my pregnant body and how it felt to be growing bigger and ever more public and at the same time smaller in the body and shape of myself that I once knew.

At some point in the night I woke up to pee and got tossed into another dream about male strippers and paid sex and a couch full of women waiting for their turn to claim their partner. I was very excited about the prospect and collected my own set of dress up clothes on hangers for the next guy who would be mind for $20 plus a tip. Another pregnant woman, an acquaintance who in real life had asked me about what it was like to get pregnant, showed me her belly as if to say she had taken our discussion to heart. Her little bump was showing and she went off with the first stripper who was Brad Pitt handsome. The next man arrived, all cut with abs and arms and I woke up before the action began.


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