The Toilet Dream

I had the toilet dream again.

It has happened too often to be a fluke – it must be a sign.

Obviously I am pre-ordained to spend a significant portion of my life in the bathroom.

The toilet dream goes like this: in my dream, I am suddenly looking for a toilet. There are various reasons, though usually in the dream, I simply need to use the bathroom.

So I find one, and there is always something significant about it. Sometimes the stall is too small and I can get in but not get out. Sometimes it’s overflowing or especially dirty. Especially large or open with no stalls.

And then I attempt to – ahem – use the toilet. To no satisfaction. Afterward, I need to find another toilet, ad nauseum.

Until the pattern repeats itself enough times that it registers in the conscious part of my brain –

YOU NEED TO USE THE BATHROOM. FOR REAL.

Last night, the dream went like this – I was doing research. On toilets. The first set were in a sprawling public bathroom. Most of them were completely useless. Broken doors, broken bowls, paper hanging out. Stalls too small or too open. The usual. One stall was occupied by David Bowie, who was working on a new tune. One of my companions asked if he found the environment inspiring, and he said that finding inspiration in filth was his specialty. Sadly, I never saw his face.

The second part of the dream consisted of my doing a survey of a ritzy neighborhood. At first I was just finding more of these run down public restrooms. Then I decided to give up on that and look for port-a-potties. I figured there had to be some somewhere – aren’t there always in a fancy neighborhood? As soon asked as answered, and soon I was walking into one. But then it promptly cut in half, vertically, with the side falling down as if on a hinge. Time to give up and wake up.

After waking up and taking care of business, I went back to sleep and dreaming a magical, mysterious scene that would fit right in with the NaNoWriMo story I am currently serializing over at JukePop (Sarah Elizabeth Jones, Time Traveller). And promptly forgot every detail of it. Thank you so much, Sandman.