Christmas frequently works its way into my dreams. Maybe it’s because my birthday is December 25. Maybe it’s just the power the holiday holds over me. Or maybe it’s a really common dream theme, like finding yourself naked in public. 

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I’m in a parking garage with my husband. We’re happily singing Jingle Bells. A group of people join our song. They’ve ruined the moment. My husband doesn’t want to sing anymore.

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It’s Christmas morning and I’m at a poet’s house for a party. I get a psychic reading. Then I’m on a roof of a building overlooking a city. Somewhere nearby is my (dream) husband with his Courtney Love-like mistress. They like to meet up with Derrida to have three ways. Derrida is here. I’m willing to talk to him about the view, but I’m unwilling to have a three way. I have to get to my grandmother’s for Christmas dinner.

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I’m outside my home putting up Christmas lights, trying to create an interesting pattern with the bulbs, but it’s challenging. A group of young men come up and ask about my gray roots. I explain that it’s a sign of my aging. They’re taken aback because I’m upfront and not embarrassed. I tweet about the encounter.

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I’m in my childhood home on Christmas. A poet comes with a wrapped gift for me. I have one for him too. He makes a comment that the room we’re in smells like pee. I tell him there’s no pee anywhere around here. Nobody has lived in this house for over a year and it’s merely a musty scent.

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I’m in an unfamiliar, large, dark house with another woman. Despite it being fancy, the furnishings aren’t very nice. The woman is creeped out by one of the rooms and says, “Omigod, don’t let there be a crib in there.” Of course, there is a crib in there. It’s a child’s bedroom. We walk down the hall and there’s a man and woman jammed into a nook having sex. They’re trying to have sex in a bunch of different places. There are three children (a toddler, a preschooler and an elementary-aged child) watching. I’m appalled and can’t hide it. This is acceptable and normal in this family. The oldest child says to me that they’ve seen their dogs “make Christmas” too and it’s no big deal. I say, “Omigod, is that what you call it?” I leave immediately.

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