Sex, Just Add Water

4:02 p.m.
Track: “Traces” — Enigma

Just got back from a client meeting. Four hours of “fun.” [sobs quietly into Port]

There was another entry before this one — long, confessional, locked behind a password — but I took it offline. Too revealing. Some thoughts are better left in the drafts folder.

For over a week now, I’ve been having a string of sex dreams. Not one or two — an entire series. I’ve never had them so consecutively. Usually they’re once every few months, or even once a year. But this? Every night.

In one dream I was a school administrator, sleeping with teachers while navigating endless corridors and dead ends — the kind of maze that feels like a metaphor, but you wake up too tired to decode it. Two women stood out: one witty, confident, and gorgeous; the other sweet, artistic, and gentle. I chose the first, even knowing the second was better for me. Both were hurt, and still waiting for me to “come to my senses.”

My father made a brief cameo — greeting everyone but me — while my mother watched quietly from the background, like she always does.

Despite all that, the dream didn’t feel tragic. I felt powerful, self-directed, focused on forward motion. The encounters with women were tempting diversions, but never the destination.

Two days later, real life took over: new contracts, possible $40/hour work, minor victories. The mind shifts from fantasy to invoices easily enough.

As for the rest — yes, there were dreams about friends. Some of theirs. Some of mine. They came nightly, one after another, until this morning when they finally stopped.

The last one? Chloe again. We got back together. I felt reluctant. That’s all I’ll say.

Bananas for everyone. 🍌