- There was an arm. A toddler’s arm. Wrapped in a tarp. In the back of my car. I’m driving around trying to figure out the best way to get rid of it. It can’t be anywhere on my property no matter how deep the hole is because of the forensic dogs. But the hole has to be deep. Somewhere. Fade to black.
- The school counselor is pissed. Somehow, I converted an entire high school to Scientology and got her fired. She throws all the papers in her office in the air and gives me a death stare. I’m proud of myself. Aerosmith plays a concert at the high school. But all their songs are slow songs. Fade to black.
- I’m marching in a pro-choice rally. Everyone is wearing an index card safety-pinned to their shirts with aborted fetuses superglued to the card. “We know what it looks like, and we don’t care.”
It was freezing in my bedroom when I woke up. At least the song matched this time. On a related note, I did not realize “dream journaling” was a thing. Hmm. This might be interesting.