Ramblings from the Desert

The man who trades freedom for security does not deserve nor will he ever receive either. ~Benjamin Franklin

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Location: New Mexico

Author of the urban fantasy novel, The Music of Chaos, and the paranormal romance, The Canvas Thief.

Monday, September 12, 2005

In My Dreams

There are no toilets.

And it's all because I'm lazy. Lazy.

See, I'm fond of a late evening cup of tea. Or cups. Then, sometime around 2 AM, my bladder starts complaining. It starts off with a polite little twinge. "Ahem. Need attention, please." I ignore it. The bathroom is just a few steps away, but I don't want to go to the effort of getting up, walking, etc., etc. So back to sleep I go.

An hour later, bladder is getting desperate. It's done threatening the kidneys and comes after the brain. It sends little message in the form of dreams: pee dreams. There are two variants.

First is the No Privacy scenario. I know, parents out there are shaking their heads. There's no privacy when you're a parent; the little buggers just march right in while you sitting on the throne. Number one reason I don't have kiddos. I like to pee (and beyond) in peace.

This kind of dream features me wandering around, searching for a loo. I finally find a public restroom only to realized the cubicle doors are about three and a half feet high. I might go through the motions. There I sit, head and top half of me poking out the top of the ridiculous stall. Looking at everyone else in the bathroom. Can't do it. Fumble with clothes and stagger out, bladder still shrieking.

With variation two, I find a toilet, but it's broken. Usually, it's clogged and filled to the rim. For some reason, this configuration is someplace weird, like in the middle of a room or in a closet. In desperation, I might take chance, trying to not overfill it. Yeah, nasty. I'm nasty in dreams. Oh, and if I do this, there isn't enough toilet paper to clean up the ensuing mess.

If I still ignore the dreams, bladder gets desperate, starts throwing out combinations: clogged toilet in a public restroom with midget stalls.

Worst part of this? These are the only dreams I ever remember. Flying? Hot sex with Hugh Jackman? Brain can't let me remember those dreams. Crap.

There. Way more than you wanted to know.



Graphics and Content Copyright © Patricia Kirby 2005