The Cruelty of Sleep
The torment of dreams.
So there I was with Molly, on a couch in the last room occupying the end of a long thin rectangle of a building, watching Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. [Ed.: HHGTTG? Was that you telling yourself, "Don't Panic"?] It was familiar and comfortable, and in the same moment awkward and tentative.
Also, I was a bit overheated in the boring conventional sense. Naturally, this meant leaving her in the room alone, in favor of a quick wardrobe change into something business casual, like a blue Oxford.
While I was out, it seemed like a good time to talk to my brother in the next building over - sort of a next day recap of the ongoing date.
After entirely too much time had passed, I got back to the room. Movie was still on; date was right where I left her except perhaps not as thrilled as I hoped, but more than I had any right to expect.
I remember making the move. There were sweet kisses and the promise of more.
But my mouth was suddenly dry,, and the kisses became sticky. I needed the loo, which meant excusing myself again.
And then I was awake and the only thing real was needing to drink some water and needing to make room for it. Alas.
Good to see you again, Superstar.