Maybe it was Utah

Monday, October 16th: the start of another week. Another morning where I sit with coffee and a keyboard, a ceiling fan above me. A clean office I spent five hours cleaning while not working over the four day weekend. Who knew I had so many things I didn't need? Whole stacks of papers, stories I wrote, and smiled over reading. How enthusiastic I used to be! How happy. How distracted by the coffee and the keyboard and the fan.

It's raining out. The constant tapping on my tin roof is making me sleepy. I didn't sleep well last night. Woke up angry. I don't remember dreaming.

I had plenty of dreams Saturday night once I finally stumbled to bed after watching documentaries on sex addicts, and students sleeping with their teachers, and no, they didn't abuse their trust, and yes, they must have sex, they're addicted. I don’t believe 'em but watched like a kid at a sideshow. People throwing knives at other people spinning on wheels, crying. Scared. I dreamt I was walking down a muddy road, alone, with snakes hiding in the puddles, rattling and slithering. Lunging at my ankles. Snakes everywhere! In the grass that grew alongside, falling from the treeline. My father stepped out into the road ahead shouting, Watch out for those snakes, Ash. Watch out for those snakes...

I went on to dream of Baby Girl and I going to a birthday party for another child. After parking longways in front of a house with children all running in the yard full of happy families with gifts in hand, new babies in their arms, smiling over everything, I climbed from the car and unfastened Baby Girl and sat her down, and she was so happy to see the other kids, to play with someone other than me, that she ran into the yard and was laughing, but I told her to stop. Wait. I have to get the gift from the passenger seat. I walked back to the car and was struggling to get the big heavy present and my purse and the keys. I wasn't watching. She was coming back to me, and slid down an embankment into a big moving stream, and I yelled at someone standing closer to reach in and grab her, but they didn't, so I jumped in, and she was fine. Thank God, she was fine! But I had to take her home and get us changed and by the time we made it back, the party was over. It was dark. The families were leaving.

The final dream was of me, walking through a door into a room where all four walls were tall clear glass. Sunlight pouring onto white wood floors. In the center was a stage, and on it, a bed, and on it, my ex best friend, M. Short, thin, green eyes and a big toothy smile like Julia Roberts. I said hi, and we hugged. It was just like old times. Lying in bed by each other's side. Staring out the windows, I asked her, Where are we? She said it was a famous building where they once shot a movie, but it was so old, she bought it for cheap, and would I like a tour? I said I did. Pulling down a folded ladder with a string. She took my hand and led me through a door in the ceiling. We climbed up and out and into the sunlight, onto a flat square with stairs, slides, and tunnels connecting hundreds of other rooftops, all of different colors and heights: the buildings, stairs, tunnels, and slides. We played like the children in the yard until I got lost, and the sky went dark. Separated, I ran, searching, through windows and doors, trying to find her loft but never could. I stood in that darkness atop a roof waiting for the sun to rise. To pass the time, I took pictures of the tunnels and slides. The flash of my camera. My only light.