Dreaming of Me.

I’ve been checked out of my hotel room for several hours. I’m seated in a public restroom and I look down at my bare abdomen and thighs and notice a strange white-speckled rash covering them. I lean forward to check my calves and see tiny white worms crawling all over. They seem to be emerging from the raised bumps. I shriek and brush spastically at my legs, eventually removing any surface trace.

I dash back to my hotel to shower, forgetting that I’ve already turned in my key. I remember that there are communal facilities in the lobby and I beeline in their direction. (I'm thinking: at least I can rinse off...) Except that they’ve been replaced with a row of outhouses, and currently there is a rowdy bunch of high school students chasing each other in and out of them.

I open my eyes. I sigh, unspeakably relieved. And then I close them again. 

I’m at the airport lounge, sitting with a group of strangers. One of them is convinced that we use the same radiused channel brackets in our cubicles as they do at his workplace. I can’t confirm, so I tell him I will photograph them when I get back to the office and text him the pic. Except that I can’t seem to enter his number into my phone. I try writing it down, but I fumble and miswrite it several times before realizing that my flight is leaving. As I collect myself in a hurried frenzy, I remember that I’ve left my car at the long term parking, and if I get on this flight, I will abandon my car in another state.

I probably should get off this plane.

I rack my brain to recall why I’ve done this. I have no memory of driving my car here and can’t fathom why I am now going home without it.

I open my eyes again. And decide to keep them open for the rest of the night.