I had a sex dream last night!

Kind of. I dreamt that I met this musician at his show, and decided to have sex with him, immediately. I don’t know how I pulled this off? I believe his name was Taylor. He looked kind of like a preppy David Bowie. So, we were having sex, in my bed, because, even in dreams, American Psycho has made me worried about going to men’s apartments. But he was not wearing a condom! I said, “Stop, get a condom!” He did. We continued having sex.

Which was fine, except I remembered afterward that you could get all kinds of diseases even from the first few minutes of sex without a condom, and I did not even know this guy’s last name. I’d sent him away! How would I contact him? I couldn’t even yell at him if he gave me chlamydia! JESUS CHRIST. Then I remembered an ad where a woman talked about how valiantly her mother was fighting against AIDS since she’d learned she was HIV positive, and I thought about what a tremendous problem that would be for my mom.

I spent the rest of the dream going about my daily business while feeling a horrible weight of anxiety.

This dream ended with me telling Ashley, “My insurance only covers STD testing once a year, and I think testing is around $900 without insurance. But should I do it? I mean, for my peace of mind. I think it might be worth it.”

Then I woke up and thought “Oh, thank God, Jennifer, you did not actually sleep with a stranger.” I lay there and felt tremendous relief. And then I paused for another second and thought “Wow, I wish I had not insisted on a condom, in retrospect.”

Then I went back to sleep and dreamt I lived on a 19th century plantation where we made cornbread. There was a cornbread song that repeated the lyrics “Everyone makes cornbread different.” It was very soothing.

My dreams are incredibly literal, is what I’m saying.

Oh, there’s some mask that lets you control your dreams.

That is what this post is about. Good talk.