I awoke this morning sometime after 4am, startled first by how light it was, then by the realization I was awake. Rolling out of bed to avoid the drool, I wandered into the dark bathroom, and shortly returned to bed; the black sheets still cuddly warm. I clenched my jaw and snapped my teeth; I couldn’t get the need out of my system. Of course it’s all pertaining to the dream: some haunted house block party on a mid-summer evening. All was chill and fun ’til some dream-friend runs her hands up my face smearing my dead-goddess perfect makeup, screeching “that’s not your shirt!” She must have pushed me, as I’m on my back with some dork in a mask digging his finger in my side, tickling me. No one tickles me. And all I could, and do, think about is the desire to bite his finger clear off.