You and your “get yourself another beer.” And your “yeah, you can take a couple with you.”
A girl gave me her phone number. I probably shouldn’t have called her. I had a different girl’s number; she had the sense not to pick up.
Texting Pro Tip: texting “sleeping” means you’re not.
By this point, supper seemed pointless. Sleep seemed like the least ridiculous option- fewer apologies and retractions to issue. But, thanks to Ray’s other guests, the usual “get close but don’t get laid” dream wasn’t queued up. I would have even settled for the “time to finish the last job/class/assignment that you didn’t even start” dream.
No, I get to go down memory lane for my nightmare. First I am waking up to a naked woman sliding over me. Rather than open my dream eyes, I try to guess who it is by feel and shape. This could be fun. But, surprise! It’s her.
I don’t know what happened before I dream woke up, but this can’t go on. No Mr. Happy time. She needs to go. One-sided arguing about resolved (I thought) occupancy situations ensue and she leaves. Temporarily. I lock everything. She still gets back later in for more disruption, more standoff on well-settled points of law.
Weird transition to a store ensues.
Then I am in the shower. A naked woman slides in behind me. I am hopeful that we have changed course from anxiety to entertainment for real this time. No such luck. Same person. Same leaping out of the scene to avoid an entanglement, literal or otherwise.
This time it’s in my mom’s house. Same get out of my life plot. Same insufficient locks to prevent infiltration.
And both times, the confusing resistance to fold John Law into this tableau.
So thanks, Ray. Thanks, Ray’s neighbors, for picking scabs and making me defend myself.