bike to ferry to the Oakland hills
physical assault in San Francisco
tug of war with a phone
defeat, heading home
no, fuck that, heading back
to class
dance class
diverse
stash keys/wallet/phone
in a cubby of chaos
I’m no good
I’m forgetful
I’m upstaged
I’m not surprised
palm to palm
“you gotta get out of your head, girl”
he says to me
palm to palm
get me out
light blue pebbled leather wallet
gone
phone
gone
keys
gone
stolen

So, yes. That. I dreamt I lived in San Francisco. Went to a class in the hills of Oakland. Didn’t have a car. Biked to the ferry. On the way, a crazy guy on the street yelled at everyone, yelled at me, demanded my phone. I surrendered. He gave it back. Then demanded it again. I escaped. I think he just wanted the fight.

I boarded the ferry. Made it to the class, which was total chaos. People everywhere. A dimly lit space that reminded me of the basement laundry room of my childhood home. In my dream, there were cubbies. I chose one for my phone, keys and wallet—a light blue pebbled leather wallet—all unsecured. So trusting.

I took the class. A dance class. I choreographed. The teaching part was fine. When it came time to actually dance it, I floundered. Fell apart. Totally lost. Everyone else got it, killed it. Then someone else choreographed, a guy. His work was much better, everyone thought so. Open secret.

At the end, during the cool-down and final stretch, the guy placed his palm on mine. Told me to get out of my own head, to get out of my own way.

By then I really wanted to leave. Trying to exit was a mess, like after a show. A maze of halls. Crowds. Hazy. Dark. Materials draped over surfaces, burlap and tulle. The cubbies had been raided. My wallet was gone. Phone and keys, too.

That’s all I remember. But today I’m walking around the halls at work with a naked vulnerability that feels so very unpleasant.