If You See a Toilet in Your Dream, Don't Sit on That Motherf*cker

Hey there, body,

I’d appreciate it if you stopped playing your mind games. Literally. Just STOP.

I do a lot for you. I make sure you eat lots of low-carb vegetables, I pluck the random chin hairs you’ve decided to bestow upon me at 37, and I’m learning what Kegels are.

I admit I could do better eating fruit and flossing my teeth, so don’t judge me too harshly. The least you can do is let me sleep without some mind-f*ckery.

I almost fell for your bullsh*t last night. I’d like to respectfully remind you this is the second time this week you tried to pull the wool over my eyes. So far the score is:

Me: 2 — Your Mind Games: 0

I’m not falling for your pranks. Last night, you baited me with another phenomenal dream. It did not involve my crush Daniel Craig, nor the flamingo beaches of Fiji. Instead, you lured me like a sugar-addicted kid to an ice cream truck.

I can see you shrugging your shoulders. “What did I do?”

You flashed the toilet at me! After a peaceful night’s sleep of a much-needed eight hours, you had the guts to do it. Hook. Line. Sinker. The TOILET.

The first time I saw the toilet in my dream, I remember it stood in front of me with its smooth white porcelain surface, open seat, and pristine blue Scrubbing Bubbles lavender-scented water.

It looked like a nice cold seat that was waiting for my rear end to be placed upon it. Soon my intuition kicked in and made me say, “Oh, hell no! I know this trick.”

I forced myself to wake up and made a beeline for the bathroom. Not only did you tick me off by making me retreat from my cozy bed, but you decided to do this at 3 am. Thanks, jerk.

Two days later, you did the same thing again, except you took it a step further. This time, you got me to pull down my cozy sweat pants, my satin panties, and I popped a squat on my imaginary toilet. I remember the sensation of my bladder releasing like I just endured a ten-hour car ride with no breaks.

Suddenly, I ripped open my eyes, sat up in my bed, ripped off the covers, and made sure I didn’t return to the “wet the bed” incident I recall from childhood. To my relief — I didn’t. However, you officially put yourself on my list of shit pals.

I cannot believe that you would do this to me! Did you not hear me before saying that I’m learning about Kegels for you? I’d like to sneeze once without dribbling in my pants and I’d also like to not have to wake up every single night to take a piss.

Flashing a toilet in front of me two to three hours before my alarm goes off is the meanest thing I have had to endure from you. In fact, I place it up there with the time that I thought I won a $1,000 BINGO but didn’t because my deaf ears heard the wrong number. (Well played, cochlea. Well. F*cking. Played.)

You better start treating me right. Otherwise, I’ll start feeding you food that I know you hate such as stuffed cabbage and brussel sprouts. You know I’m a crazy redhead and I’ll do it too, so don’t try to call my bluff on this.

I’m going to take the high road with this situation by continuing to treat you right despite your mind games.

Why? Because I need you and you need me. It’s a love-hate relationship, but we are in this together. How about we bury the hatchet by pouring a glass of wine, sign a truce, and agree to have some better dreams together?

Sincerely,

Crystal A. Walker

Originally published on Medium & CrystalsWritingRoom