Dreamed I was in line to check in at my regular salon. I had been going for years.

I had been waiting for a while because the line was long, but when it came to be my turn an old posh woman with a dawdling toddler in tow shouldered in front of me.

I told her it was my turn. She said she had an appointment. I said I did too. She said something dismissive that I don’t quite recall, and I told her that even rich assholes have to wait in line. She huffed off and the clerk signed me in.

I was in the chair, in the middle of a deep-conditioning treatment, when a team of officious pantsuited women with leather-wrapped iPads and stern faces materialized. The Managers. One blonde, short, in a grey ensemble with long hair worn down her back, the other tall and dark with her hair done up in a tight, tidy bun wearing wire-rimmed glasses. The latter seemed to be taking notes.

My stylist scurried to the wall like a frightened mouse seeking shelter. The women informed me that I was no longer welcome in their salon.

When I asked why, the slightly more fascistic-looking blonde informed me that it was because I had insulted the woman with the designer brat. She had complained.

I explained to them how she had thrown her weight around and that anyone else would have done the same; that I was a regular and had been supporting their business for years. The blonde shifted uneasily, smoothing the hem of her skirt. She disagreed.

I told her it was a disappointment and a fucking shame that after nearly a lifetime of loyalty that my patronage was being reduced to a bottom line, but she remained unmoved. I could practically see the dollar signs in her greedy little eyes.

I asked if I could I at least finish my appointment. In slow motion, a glob of conditioner detached itself from the end of my twisted up hair and landed in an unappetizing bitter splat on the gel mat below.

She begrudgingly agreed, clearly doing me a favour.

The Managers clacked smugly back to wherever it was they’d came from—presumably some designer panopticon from whence they could observe and correct all putrid instances of humanity that would dare to blossom in their pristine establishment.

My stylist returned to the chair and apologetically finished up my hair. He did a great job.

Dreamed this a few nights ago, but couldn’t get it down until today.

I was in labour and bleeding everywhere. In the dream, the blood seemed normal. I wasn’t having contractions, but I knew the baby was coming.

I went to the hospital where they had a room waiting for me. It was rectangular and ran lengthwise parallel to the building with the entryway in the middle of the wall and a window just opposite the door. The head of the delivery table, which was basically a bed, was centred against the right-hand wall. There was a picture on the outside wall above the bed, but I don’t remember what it was.

The nurse didn’t seem to know what to do. She showed me around the room but wasn’t sure how to make me comfortable. We sort of milled around for a while, but I got sick of it, so I went into the waiting room.

The waiting room was a huge 70s olive green monstrosity with a drop ceiling and fluorescent lighting. There were rows upon rows of conjoined chairs like the kind you find in airport terminals. I sat down in one of the middle rows next to a table. There was a Vanity Fair magazine on it, so I read it.

Then I had a contraction, so I went back to my room.

The nurse was waiting with the doctor. The doctor was the same one who examined my eye in Brittany when I’d scratched my cornea. He had put a big white quilted bedspread on the delivery table, and I was worried it was going to get messy. He said it was fine and not to worry. But he couldn’t figure out what to do with me, either.

These days, my wheels start spinning as soon as my alarm sounds, so many of my recent dream memories are flashes and atmospheric impressions.

I remember wood, maybe wooden decks, water, sunshine, haziness, heat, humidity. Summertime. Cool shade and white cotton sheets. Skin hot from the sun. Slowness. Driving, distances, horizons, cities, fields, highway exits.

That’s certainly enough to sprout a daydream.

Dreamed I was in a love triangle with my professor, who was McSteamy from Gray’s Anatomy (unf, suck teeth), and the dad from The O.C.. I had to dump them both because my parents would be home soon.

McSteamy understood, but the other guy was pretty pathetic about the whole thing. He was also not a very good lover.

It had been raining and the roads glistened under the streetlights. Whose Fiat was that in the driveway?

Also dreamed it was Hallowe’en and I was at a wonderful street book and gift fair. The trees were all golden maples with black trunks and everyone was wearing wool.

I had been the day before and bought some cards with skeletons on them, and I had returned to see if there were any more. The woman who ran that stall was in her 60s with long salt and pepper hear piled up on her head. She wore a long brown skirt and many beads. They were still selling the beautiful paper masks I had not seen before, but they had run out of the cards I wanted.

I bought the masks.

Dreamed Dark North was back in Stuttgart. We were at a dive bar to play another show with Midnight Circus, but the timing was all wrong. We found out when we arrived that it wasn’t supposed to start until 4 or 5 in the morning because all our friends in Germany were out stargazing.

We ended up having to catch our plane back before anyone even showed up. Cò sent us farewell photos of everyone who’d come out to see us. Everyone was wearing worn-out velour 90s sweaters and leather jackets and drinking and playing pool. We were sad to have missed it.

Dreamed last night that I was supposed to sing at the wedding of my old choir director and his wife, but I was late. I had been to the church before, but I couldn’t remember where it was. When I looked for it on my phone, it appeared on the map, but when I followed directions to the location, it wasn’t there.

Then, I was unpacking plastic test tubes that had been used for pregnancy tests. Dad said that Mum wouldn’t like my doing that at the table. Then Mum showed up and said that she was pregnant and keeping it.