Fuck god didn’t let me say it.
The most significant fucking dream of my life And I woke up to pee at the best part. I probably can’t explain it in the detail of needs now. Fuck. I was doing a court ordered monologue on stage for my admission to the good place, and I made it, but they didn’t let me… Read More »

Fuck god didn’t let me say it.

The most significant fucking dream of my life

And I woke up to pee at the best part. I probably can’t explain it in the detail of needs now. Fuck. I was doing a court ordered monologue on stage for my admission to the good place, and I made it, but they didn’t let me finish.

Fuck. I wanted to finish. It was explaining who I am at first  to the whole world, then to just a few  and crew. I was good. I was funny. I was 100@ me and I even told the judge/ god off a few times.

Part one.

The rotating paper towel tube.

Void, hearing, seeing, watching  learning, combating hate  collaborating, winning, Figuring it out.

Part 2

The bus and the sifting waiting.

The event I saw coming.

Caren I tries to pull one over for self benefit  gets caught, vanishes and I am given her unborn (not my)child as guardian as her best friend.

Part 3

I am the focus of this dream now. The realization I am unlikely and not the dream human I claim, and mostly believe I am.

I am asked to present a recorded presentation about why I don’t also deserve the bad verdict for my actions, pertaining mostly around this woman.

I am sent to my country bedroom where I lived behind a closed bedroom door from ages 7 to 17 on earth to collect resources while my parents are loud across the hall.

(This is before I met Caren and have zero memory of my parents fighting from that bedroom. Significant distraction for my monologue prep.

I had to give up an existing tape of music to record over


I was offered shady legal council I didn’t take. I knew exactly the story I 2as getting ready to tell. I 2as then for Ed to take council, which was clearly a series of tests I pre-preficted but had to follow through to stall and rush me. I used the N word twice for shock and see at the absurdity of the help I wasn’t getting,but in a funny way.


I appeared on stage. First I thought I’d been challenged with telling my story as a 12 year old girl. I grabbed the mix and said; hello cleavland.

I was then a guitar playing, teenage band member with dark hair and a guitar. Our band played the final chords of some music, and then I grabbed the mix and said. Thank you. I know we’re not the worst band that’s played this stage, bit I’ll keep trying.

The show stopped and I had a discussion about my attitude. I was told I’m doing it wrong. It was a serious thing. I explained this was how I do serious. Fun.

I explained even scientist and Simon Cowell never know how things might turn off. I made a callback to a different situation on the bus that surprised people. Let me continue.

I started my story. Somebody had a question.

No. Thos is not how things are. It’s my show and it needs my paving, my timing and questions ruin the flow. I know what I have to say and what order it has to come in.


In my beginning, I was born. You may think I’m going back too far just to prove my point, but that really is where my story begins and context is key. I was different in so many ways  but as a baby, nobody knows how different I was for decades. As babies  and children, the system needs is to be all the same. My schools and my parents have systems in place for me to be just like the kids before. I am punished for not being just like everyone else.

It’s frustrating. Before ADHD was known to be an optional thing I was just a frustrating child that “appeared to be smart, but intentionally acting out  being lazy and/or disruptive, and not living up to my capabilities or explanations. Now I was the same as all the other problem children, except funny and less mean.


Puburty was slow. I witnessed every one I knew start to notice girls and Google over photos of women in stolen Playboy’s or other more dirty magazines. Now I was different in a new way. I was the last to care, even in my circle of nerdy virgin geek friends. I played along but with no horny tendencies to feel. I assumed I was just late.

After high school I assumed I was just late still. My friends all started to date, couple up and I didn’t. I liked girls but not in that way. It was odd, and people noticed but I was masking and aware that my hope of just being late to the game was something different.


Standing on stage, I say; I am gay. 

Not traditional gay though. I am in the most controversial and misunderstood type of gay. Even gay people shun me and don’t believe I exist.


Somebody on stage with my band is surprised and yells something negative.

Thank you for making my point so well, and your timing was perfect.

I started to explain, and boom. I’m back in my bed  opening my eyes for my 230am pee. I am left with the feeling the dream was my self awareness text and I’d said enough. I passed and am back on earth… But it was probably just biogy.

Fuck. I had prepared more. Was I that boring, they cut me off. Being asexual as an actually named explanation for why I don’t get horny was a huge revelation in my late 30s but was only part of my story with Caren. I still had more to atone for.

But maybe I don’t. Accepting my mental and physical self explains away so much of the guilt. 

I’m glad I don’t have to care for anyone’s baby. God hinted it would be twins.

The details of each part were so rich with characters cameos and great humour. I wish so much I could have explained more. I’m still sitting on the toilet. I wish I could have told more but I’m shocked I got this much to the blog. Stopping the q&a side tracks made a difference in both worlds I think.

I am smiling at this whole dream. I wonder if I’ll return on my next sleep, now at 330am.



The waiting area




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