this dream brought to you by patron tequila

It is hard to wake up when you open your eyes in the middle of a dream, especially one that is so involved and enjoyable.

There was a roomful of creative people. It had the feel of an acting class, but it was different somehow. The professor was someone you all admired greatly; he told the group to take turns "doing something." A waifish woman crouched at the front of the room against the impossibly flat and tall wall, said, "What should I do?" Someone said, "Do your circus character." She did an amazing movement piece, her body lithe and agile, something a body could do only in a dream or maybe Cirque du Soleil). At one point, she stopped her movements to fix another woman's blousy shorts which flapped open a little wide at the cuffs when she sat cross-legged at the front of the room.

Other people did bits during which you were caught up in the planning of your special thing -- and that was what the professor warned everyone away from -- going off into other dream states, sitting in the back of a carriage, on a train, over water (they seemed all to do with traveling). When it came your time to do your thing, you were brilliant, tickling a fox on its belly, letting it bite your gloved hands, and playfully pulling apart its hind legs to get a look up its internally lighted bum hole. The fox was invisible to everyone but you, though your interaction with it made it come to life in their minds. A doorway that didn't exist before appeared, cutting the room into a one-third/two-third split. It was the professor's home, this room, you noticed as you braced yourself against the door frame and crawled up to the top; there were markings of the children's growth over the years, their names and heights. A piece of the door frame came off in your hands -- a corner piece -- and you animated it, held it like a baby, made cooing voices, which delighted everyone in attendance except for two. Two men were talking loudly, ignoring you, so you waddled to the floor, door-frame baby still in your arms, intensified the baby noises to loud cries and walked right up to the talking pair. Of course, that shut them up. Unfortunately, it woke you up, mid-dream, mid-(brilliant)-dream.

You reached for the deodorant instead of the toothpaste; you reached for the water faucet instead of the light; you took out the can and the bag of coffee grounds.

Earlier in the night there had been a fascinating dream in which you drank a shot of tequila from your second oldest acquaintance's breast. It was at a party. She showed up. It was a joke or something, a dare, and suddenly her boob was out, the nipple was in your mouth, and lo-and-behold there was tequila in them thar hills!