rshort1202

I am at some small event in some smaller event room. There are people from work here as well as Sage and maybe her boyfriend. I have come here with Makayla; I think it is somewhere in California. Makayla calls Mom to ask if we can stay here for dinner. I say, mostly to myself since she’s on the phone, that Mom could throw us a 20 and it would help. Mom says yes, inciting a subdued bout of excitement. I envision taking an Uber back just as a humorous scenario, mentally gawking at what it would cost if they even go that far. I am seated now, at the end of one of two tables that abuts the other. Against the wall and on smaller display tables are the beers on tap. Each actually looks like its own little machine - they range in appearance from slushee machines to small drink vending machines, etc, each with their own design for the beer within. Evelyn from work is looking at them all, very closely. I wasn’t going to go up and look at them alone, so I take this opportunity. There are some fairly good options, but nothing amazing. I think I see the Sierra Nevada Torpedo. I think there is a porter and a hefeweizen, the hefe in what looks like a pineapple yellow pina colada machine. I think its name is slightly off - actually Heineken or something? I think I decide to pass on it because it seems like a bad imitation of the style. I think I end up with a glass of the Torpedo. I’m now seated again, across from Sage and maybe her boyfriend. The apparent host, a petite, bald, bespectacled man wearing a white apron around his waist, is coming around and jovially making sure everything and everyone is okay. Everyone seems to be uplifted by this quaint man’s demeanor. He takes Sage’s order, which is ‘spare pork’. I now see a plate of it in front of her, three or four generously sized slices of pork. He looks at me now, and I want the same thing, but ‘spare pork’ sounds wrong, so I say instead ‘the same thing’. I notice my drink is a few sips away from being empty. I want to order another while I have the service available, but I also don’t want to ask for more while I still have some.




I am working a wedding. I am standing outside and near the entrance gate to what seems to be a large, upscale country club. Everything seems spread out, showcasing the grassy, and in places marshy, land. It seems like a pleasant day. I am holding a fairly big gift bag - it is for the couple whom I just saw but now cannot find. I feel sort of out of place. I want to get this gift to them, but guests keep showing up, expecting me to direct them. A lifted, impossibly white truck approaches; the driver is impeccably clean cut and dressed in an effortlessly classy and flattering suit. Through his open window, he tells me that he likes my shoes. They are my new ones (that I bought at work). I’m also wearing dress pants and a tucked dress shirt. He now asks me where the ‘halfway point’ is, and I hesitate. He asks again, kind of snootily, as if I should know right away. It makes me feel kind of stupid. I then recall an image of a white line on some asphalt, so I tell the man to continue on and he will see the halfway point marked with a white line, gesturing with my hands. To my left, I see the asphalt walkway meandering through and then becoming obscured by some tall grasses. I see men in suits walking with girls in dresses, all pastel colors, and it is idyllic. I now start walking, but I am not on any walkway. The ground is marshy; my feet start to sink enough to get the tops of my shoes wet. Beth has apparently been watching me and asks what I’m doing. I inwardly agree with her sentiment and start to come back. I still want to give them this gift though, so I start again, though this time I seem to be holding onto some kind of ledge and traversing with my feet also on some small lip of something more solid than the marsh. It all seems cramped and small and obscured by the foliage. *It is as I’m doing this that I hear my alarm go off.




Mom is in my room and has apparently been going through my stuff, as she is holding up what’s left of a joint in a plastic bag that was hidden in my laundry basket. She seems really upset, mad, or disappointed. I’m not sure why; it’s really not that big of a deal to me. She’s also holding some new clothes she got for me. There are some tank tops on hangers and some red and blue underwear that look more like Speedos. I take them and hang them in the closet; they are a tight fit. I think I’m getting ready to go to class or work.




I am in the bathroom with Melissa. I am naked at least from the waist down, and using some hair removal cream? on my pubic region. For whatever reason, I start rubbing it on my lower legs, until it starts to feel like there’s less hair (I didn’t intend to remove the hair on my legs). I tell Melissa I just accidentally removed all my leg hair and she doesn’t believe me. I rub my legs, feeling only skin and stubble.