She didn’t stay the night, of course. I didn’t really expect her to, and I didn’t even whine about it. You know, I even managed not to say anything about having seen her without her pants already, which was probably above and beyond what I needed to do, but I was able to be a gentleman about it. I hope this gains me points in some kind of cosmic scoreboard, because that was the only way I could score these days.

Oh, yeah, I took care of anything else myself. And I’m proud to say it, too. Have you noticed all those novels that obsess about having sex but totally leave off the masturbation? And these self-same novels see nothing weird about pointing out that the protagonist brushed his teeth, but here the protagonist has been touching himself in wicked ways since he was nine so what’s the big deal? Like the only thing that counts is when it’s with someone else? Anyway, look, I was worked up, and I brushed my teeth, too. I just don’t make with the baby -cubi when I decide to have a little self-fling.

So, I had pleasant dreams. You want to know about them, too?

I bet you’re guessing, now. All that foreshadowing about there having been a portal in the bathroom. Seriously, you really want to read about how I ended up giving some horrible aetherbeast an inadvertent golden shower and now he was going to send his lust minions after me?

Weirdos. Seriously, remember that whole exercise I had you do earlier, with checking out what cabinets were open in the kitchen? Let’s go back to that. The whole point there is, people leave little holes all the time. It’s pretty much inevitable. That’s fine. Some people close them just as unconsciously. From careful observation of television, the role of mom and the role of closer is somehow linked. They straighten up the kitchen, close the cabinets, turn off the lights after blessing the childrens’ sleep, and thus seal their personal universe from otherworldly dangers.

Some people have this as a living; when you lay down the lines, the laws of everyday use, you generally lock things out. Masons do it, policemen do it, even librarians are constantly putting things into order. Artists are, on the other hand, some of the worst when it comes to opening things. So many of them see the places where the worlds touch they’re likely to blur the lines. Authors do it, although that one generally requires Will on the part of the reader. Musicians do it by attracting an audience. Birds do it, bees do it…sorry, got kind of caught up with the metaphor.

What would cause a portal while on the toilet? Have you ever really wondered what happens when things are flushed away? Have you ever been higher than a small orbital satellite and had to flush something really quickly because the paranoia was on you? Me neither – being drunk was risky enough. But I can assure you, it happens, and it happens at bars. And sometimes the drugs affect those who twist Will a little more strongly than others. Just say no, wizkids.

So to speak.

So yes to wanking, no to psychedelics. My soap box is a strange one, but it will keep you safe from the bogeymen. Pretty much, anyway. I don’t care so much what you do, as long as it doesn’t bring something that goes bump in the night to bump around me and the people I care about…you know, the paying public.

Morning found me with one sheet wrapped around my right leg, a pillow somewhere in the crook of my back, and still over my arm, and the alarm beeping something incessant way too freaking early. If it hadn’t been for the sheet, I would have managed to throw the clock somewhere towards the middle of the room. Instead, I managed to just twist so that I pulled my neck into an uncomfortable position and spend thirty seconds coming up with the most inventive invective I could imagine based on a dream where I was riding Sleipnir’s sister.

Um, don’t ask.

And my mouth tasted of pickles. Small sweet dill. I don’t even like dill pickles, but that often happens after I drink. You get used to it.

Monday morning, and I had to be at work in half an hour. Enough time to shower and get there, or shower and eat breakfast. I was reporting as a temporary secretary to some place off near Commerce City. You want to talk about portals and commodes, well, I had some jokes I could come up with, maybe after breakfast.

Or maybe not. I’d just grab something on the way. Yeah. That was the plan.