Dreamed that we Mykola and I went to a police officer’s ball at a lakefront house. It was mostly awkward and boring, but I did get to dive about 20 feet off the dock into the reservoir. The falling sensation was wonderful. It felt like being swaddled into the void.

Dreamed that I was driving around Arlington, Virginia in a Columbus police cruiser. I had just needed it for some errands and was going to drop the car off where I found it, but when I went to park it and wipe off my prints, another officer in a cruiser noticed me.

Two cops approached the car. One, a younger, quiet lady, got in the back and the other, a grisly old cow, stood at the window. They said it would be a $20 fine, so I pulled out some cash to pay them.

The officer at the window had me move into the passenger side seat and she got into the driver’s seat. We started driving. I asked if we could just chalk it all up to extenuating circumstances, and the old cow said that “it was a thing now” (meaning that word had spread about the cop cruiser being stolen) and that they couldn’t let me go. She also said that impersonating an officer was against the law and that I could serve jail time. I asked if I was under arrest and they said “yes”. When I woke up, I remembered that the cops hadn’t read me my Miranda rights.

Dreamed that Mum, Dad, Myk and I were packing up after a family stay at a cottage in California. There was a small stove and a big stove and I had made a bunch of food. Mum and Myk were going to take the car and Dad and I were going to fly.

When we arrived at the airport, I had accidentally packed my wallet in the car, so Dad had to pull some strings to get me on the flight. They handed me a weird questionnaire that was printed so small I could barely read it without direct light. I answered as many questions as I could before I passed the card off to the attendant at the podium. She kept asking me if I was a refugee from a war-torn country. I told her no, I was born in Canada and I’d lived in Ohio forever.

Zak Moses was in the same terminal with his dad, waiting for the same flight. I told my dad that he and Zak’s dad should trade seats so Zak and I could catch up. Dad just laughed and made a face.

The gate was nowhere near the plane, so we had to catch a shuttle. The shuttle was a bus filled mostly with passengers in wheelchairs and they were singing songs. The bus driver was Star Burns from “Community” and he took off so fast that I barely found my seat before falling down.

The bus finally pulled up to a weird cluster of terminals that looked like stairwells to subway platforms. While getting off the bus, a handsome boy in a wheelchair whispered something in my ear.

Outside the bus, some folks were having a hard time getting a quadriplegic man to get on the plane. He was lying on his back on the ground and was throwing kind of a tantrum. I sat down with him and rubbed his chest and it seemed to calm him down. He turned into sort of a bowl as we sat there.

I woke up singing “On Top of Old Smokey”.

Preface: I met Evan Walsh back in university. Pretty sure he walked straight out of a Woody Allen movie. He was a very tasteful guy and an excellent photographer. He probably still is, but we fell out of touch a while back. Anyway, this is for you, Evan.

Last night, I dreamed that Andy Samberg, having absorbed all of Evan’s talent for photography and his infuriatingly dry and self-amused sense of humour in a Highlander-style duel*, had at some point convinced me to model for a photo shoot that eventually devolved into a raunchy-yet-artistic sex marathon. He and I had agreed that he would display only the un-erotic photos at an upcoming gallery opening.

On the day of the opening, or maybe a day or two after, I discovered that he had “accidentally” submitted the porno shots along with his other work, which would have been totally fine except that the gallery had scanned all the photos, uploaded them to Facebook and tagged me in every single one of them. I immediately took to untagging my face, hoping that no one had seen them.

Of course, everyone had seen them.

So, I set up a meeting with Andy Samberg. We met in a dark, kind of shitty café and I told him what had happened and that he needed to fix this. He said “OK, OK. I’ll call the gallery, they weren’t supposed to show those pieces anyway and I definitely didn’t give them permission to post them to Facebook. I’ll give you the negatives, but you have to come to my house to get them.”

I asked him where he lived.

"You know where I live."

I said that no, I really didn’t, and he perseverated on that “joke” for, like, a Family Guy anti-joke length of time. It was pretty groany. Anyway, finally, he gave me his address and left. I went to the bathroom where all the toilets were in cages (as usual) and then I went downstairs to the parking garage.

Prince was there with a small entourage. He gave me a hug that felt like Vicodin wrapped in rose petals and said “Oh. My. God. Woman, I saw your photos. They were AMAZING! You look phenomenal. How’ve you been?” We caught up briefly, and then I think I actually dreamed a fade out.

Fade back in on Andy Samberg’s house. He was in his indoor pool because, duh, indoor pool. And he smelled so. Good. I couldn’t keep my hands off him, and we were obviously instantly in bed indulging in all sorts of hilarious acrobatics that are now just a blur of skin and cowboy props. At one point, his penis was long enough that he was just sucking on it like a straw. Horrifying. Where would that even fit?

By the time I finally got hold of the negatives, everyone had seen the photos. And I mean everyone. I was all over national news. And, somehow, it was actually good press! People were talking about how artful and technically proficient the shots were and how they had already improved public discourse on sex and that this was the beginning of a cultural revolution. If you Googled my name you got stories about the girl who normalized rimming.

Knowing that it would be impossible to erase those photos from the internet, and after the awesome pep talk Prince gave me in the car park, I figured there were probably worse things in life than having improved the American zeitgeist. So I said fuck it, tossed the negatives and embraced my weird new notoriety.

I half-woke up in the middle of this dream not knowing whether it had really happened or not, and had a minor panic attack about having to hide the photos, the Facebook comments and my affair with Andy Samberg from Myk.

* I didn’t actually dream this part. I just assume that this is what happened.

Dreamed that a wind storm destroyed the backyard and that we covered the back of the house in shiny metal shingles to protect it from future storms.

Dreamed there were two houses next to each other. A teenage boy lived in one with his mom, and a single middle-aged man lived in the other. The man was a werewolf and he killed the kid’s mother.

The kid went looking for revenge and found that there was another pack of werewolves who were gunning for the bad neighbour, who was familiar to them. They turned the kid and planned an ambush. The kid was afraid he might not turn in time so he bought some prosthetics from the costume shop down the street, but he didn’t end up needing them.

Some of the old wolf faces were flat and looked like masks, and others were big and hairy and grotesque like bad movie makeup. Because the bad neighbour was a lone wolf, he never stood a chance.

Dreamed my old boss said they wouldn’t be bringing me back for more work because I was cold and difficult to work with.

Dreamed about visiting Nan’s house and they’d redone the downstairs bathroom.

Dreamed I lent a pen and paper to two men on the street because it seemed urgent.

Dreamed I was in British Parliament and it was the first day back. The House of Commons was shaped like a church with pews leading up to a podium up front. I was sitting on the left, which was the Conservative side.

I guess I was dating the Prime Minister or something because everyone was watching me to see if I was doing British-enough things. I think at one point the Speaker stood down and they put on a movie. 

We were there for a very long time. Lots of people left. I went over to the right side of the aisle because they had long velvet benches to lie down on. An older woman, not an MP, tried to strike up a conversation with me, but my French was pretty poor. I decided to take a nap.

When I opened my eyes I was at a party at Aunt Loretta and Uncle Brian’s house. The kitchen counter was piled with dirty dishes. I was thinking about going for a swim.

Then I was driving down a road in a snowy town overlooking an even snowier mountainside. There was a little girl with me and we were playing and taking pictures.