There was big gathering at my house and my ex and his family were there too. I don't know what the big event was, but they were celebrating something I had accomplished. It was the end of the night, and everyone was chilling in the living room, playing Guitar Hero and Wii bowling. Everyone had brought their pets, so there were tiny dogs everywhere. I went into my room and laid down. I wanted a nap, but the noise in the living room was pretty loud. There were two cats and a very stubborn pug on my bed. The pug lay on my chest. For some reason his presence was annoying me. I pushed him off. He held firm, like a tiny little mass of muscles stronger than mine. I picked him up and carried to the door. He yipped and growled in the quiet way a pug does. I put him outside of the room, in the hall, and he ran back in the room and jumped on the bed. I was so tired I stopped fighting.

I woke up an hour later and jumped out of my bed. My window shade was open and I became aware that my ex was outside on the terrace, sitting in one of the patio chairs, watching me. I went back into the living room. My ex's mom and sister were snuggled up on the couch. I snuggled up with them. His sister played with my hair. I told her how sad I was about losing her brother. We both cried and she said, "I know. You're such a doll!" I realized they were about to leave very soon and I hadn't spent any time at all with my ex. I rushed out to the terrace with this heavy sense of urgency, pushing past the other people on the terrace to run towards him. He looked so small. I felt crushed, like I was losing an old friend. My heart sank as I saw him in the corner, drinking vodka straight from the bottle. I hurried towards him and saw that he looked miserable. "Hey!" I shouted, trying to sound chipper. He gave me a pained look and took a long, hard swig from the bottle. He looked angry and sad. He made a snide remark, something like, "You're gonna go to Sasquatch Festival again this year? You're gonna spend like 1500 dollars."

That's all I remember.

trampy wench

Wow, a dream. Finally. I haven't dreamt in so long. I'm now in Spain for the next year. Maybe it's so awesome here I finally sleep well enough at night to dream.

As usual, it was a weird one.

I was in London, and had agreed to meet some guy in a pub, a blind date sort of thing. We met and drank and laughed and I was really turned on by his accent. After a few beers, he said "I dare you to take your shirt off and meet me upstairs." I guess my dreams include bad stereotypes where one sort of information is filtered from random movies into my brain and all British pubs are also inns that have rooms upstairs. Anyway, I was drunk and I took my shirt off right there in the pub. I heard shouts and hoots from the bar. A disgruntled old bartender, who was drying a glass, glared at me and said "As long as you're going upstairs, honey." I stumbled upstairs to an attic with a low ceiling. A middle-aged woman was in the room and gasped when she saw me. She went downstairs. I waited for the guy and started to feel silly sitting there naked. I was relieved to find clothes in the bathroom and put a shirt on. The woman came back into the room and called down the stairs to her young son that it was okay to come up now. I felt like such a tramp.

The guy finally came up and I half-laughed and half-shouted at him. Then we wrestled drunkenly, playfully. Then I fell into a deep sleep, cuddling with him.