My sex dreams are usually pretty shameful. I usually wake up drenched in a sin-sweat questioning out loud…
“Was I drunk in my dream?”
“Is my asleep Natalie more of a whore than awake Natalie?”
“Did I eat a whole package of bologna slathered in mayo before bed, again?”
And I must admit, this makes me really worry about subconscious…well to be frank…it’s not like I wasn’t concerned before…it’s just the past 13 sex dreams I’ve had have been kind of a red flag. A huge fucking red flag.
Sex dreams are not supposed to be embarrassing.
It’s like my inner psyche has even lower standards than my only reality…and that’s really low…
…dreams are the one place that Catholics can hide their sinful thoughts from Jesus/ Black Santa/the assistant manager at Taco Bell…
Whatever don’t act like he isn’t a god. Did Jesus give you 89-cent taco Sundays? Um, no he didn’t…all he did was die for you sins…big whoop.
…and I just proved my point.
Anyways, I’m convinced that my local pizza delivery boy has pulled an Inception shenanigans on my dreams because I wake up way too many mornings crazy deep dish pizza and sex.
…That or I watch way too much amateur porn.
…or I eat more than the average consumption of bologna…I also just had to sing the Oscar Meyer Wiener song out loud to correctly spell bologna.
God damn you, original speller of bologna…god damn you.
So is this what my life has come too? A plethora of meat/mayo/porn/shameful sweating… sprinkled with a few SNL marathons every Tuesday and Thursday?
And yet boys still want to boink me with their man junk?
It’s the riddle of the sphinx…I swear to god.