It’s back to school time, and so this week my Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot gives gold stars to those who strive for good grammar and proper punctuation. After all, even the nastiest filth is improved by clean writing.
Would that my head were so clear as that prose. At the moment, my mind is a little addled by a nightmare.
In the dream, I was sitting at my desk and writing my blog on my computer. I was deep into the writing and some distractions, with several windows active with my text, emails, and instant messages.
I had to be circumspect about my writing, as my daughter Lillie was playing in the room, and often interrupted me at my desk to talk or to encourage me to play with her.
My ex wife Lucy was also in the apartment.
If Lillie or my ex approached my desk, I would quickly click on an innocuous window to cover my smut with subterfuge.
Lucy was talking to me about something. I was doing my best to pay as much attention as necessary, without losing my concentration on the writing.
At one point, Lucy suddenly stood beside me. I hurriedly clicked on the disguise window and turned to her.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked if you liked the way I set up the desk.”
I looked around the computer and noticed, for the first time, that the desktop had been rearranged. Gone were my lamp, pencils and photograph of the children, replaced by Lucy’s cup of markers, paper clips and a twisted bit of driftwood she has kept since childhood.
I didn’t like this, but I also didn’t care to make a fuss about it.
“It’s fine,” I said.
“Good. I thought it looked better than the old stuff, especially once I got rid of the desk.”
Puzzled, I looked back and saw that my desk was gone, replaced by a smaller desk I had once assembled for Collie’s use.
“Wait, where is my desk?” I asked.
“This is our desk. That old desk was too large, so I threw it out.”
“You threw out my desk? Why on earth would you do that?”
Lucy sighed. “I just told you, it was too large. Look how much better this one is in this space. It doesn’t take up nearly as much room.” She spelled it out for me in the tone she uses as prelude to a fight. “The desk was too large. I threw it out.”
“No, Lucy, you can’t throw out my things,” I said, my temper rising.
Lillie looked up from her playing.
“I can throw out anything I want!” she said. “That old desk was huge! I was tired of looking at it, and moving around it. This desk is much better.”
I stood. “And what about the things in my desk, Lucy? My files and my . . . my . . . my office supplies? Did you go through my files, Lucy? Or did you even think to save them?”
“I put your fucking crap in a box, Jefferson! Can you please just calm down? The. Desk. Was. Too. Large. Okay? This one is better. Why are you being so unreasonable about it?”
I woke. As I became aware that I had been dreaming, I realized I was breathing rapidly and my chest was clenched. I slowed my breath and resisted the urge to continue the fight. It wasn’t real, I thought. My desk is right where it is supposed to be.
The fight wasn’t real. But it sure felt real.
More than real: it felt typical.