Okay, this was the dream, and it is a bit confusing because I dreamt that I woke up (it reminds me of stories within stories, like some old Indian fables):
I woke up, then made my way into my bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror – tousled hair, sans makeup, sleepy eyes. I looked lovely. I smiled, improving the image significantly, and made my way to the toilet.
I sat myself down, sleepily staring straight, and I began to pee. And it burned, like there was some sort of microbial battle occurring within my ureter. Or is it urethra? Darned high school biology. I think urethra is the one in this case – both are kidney tubes, so to speak. Anyway, first thought is STI, and in the dream, in my mind, I recall the last sexual encounter I had.
And the encounter, in my sleeping mind’s eye, was part of the dream as well. I remember the encounter well, me wanting him so bad and in such an anti-Leesa way that I did not want him to use a condom. Completely out-of-character, but that’s probably why I was dreaming the experience.
Then I woke up (in real life, not in the dream). The first thing I did was check the sheets, knowing that dreaming of peeing may have had some unintended consequences. My 600-count sheets were bone dry (pun intended), and I relaxed.
Then I went to the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. I smiled and made my way to the toilet and was almost afraid to pee. No burning – but no sex either. Just a real surreal morning. After getting back to the bedroom, the morning sun dancing in the clouds looked more like a sunset than a sunrise, and momentarily, I thought perhaps I slept through the day.
I spent the next hour searching through the Internet, wondering about how I should interpret this dream. Some things are better left alone, I suppose.
It should not surprise me that so many authors make videos. Meg Cabot was the latest I found. I have three books in my mind right now, and I am working on them. Next step is getting them down on paper. One will take me so much time to write (non-fiction), one is half-of-a-story, and one may write itself if I have the right mixture of time, rest, wine, and inspiration.