I had a dream last night, my psychiatrist would have a field day with. I dreamt there was a beautiful park in the middle of a city. You had to pay a quarter to get in. In the middle of the park were these brick toilets and again you had to pay a quarter to get in.
I thought, Wow those must be really nice toilets. I don’t really need to go, but I’ll pay a quarter to get in and a quarter to use the really nice toilets.
So I sitting there, looking out a half window at the park, and by the way they were really nice toilets, and a woman kept going back and forth. I thought to myself this might be the kind of place someone would vandalize.
So I was sitting there and the entire wall of the toilet was ripped off and I was exposed to the city.
Yeah, thanks vandals.
Remember, this is a dream. Even my dreams have a freaky sense of humor.
My psychiatrist would want to look for deeper meaning, like my Mom’s toilet training techniques. But, me I’m not that brilliant and well-educated and I think my Mom did a fine job.
I think it’s because I’m facing my fear of short stories publicly. Oh by the way the last short story really sucked, so can my freakish dream count instead?
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