I fell asleep in the bathtub.
I had a dream that I was sitting at a card table, the kind that I use when I’m doing readings at Halloween parties where everyone is too drunk to remember what I tell them, so a card table and plastic Halloween-themed tablecloth suits me fine.
But in the dream, there was no tablecloth, across from me, sat myself, much older, but I recognized myself. To my right, sat my younger self, a teenager maybe, before I gave birth certainly.
My younger self said, “You probably won’t remember this, your memory is shit, carry a pen,” and I laughed to hear my younger self use profanity, since I never did, and I had a pen in my hand then and a piece of paper was on the table in front of me, I looked at the younger Mikki and then I looked at the older Mikki who nodded at me, frustrated, I know that expression well, and I put pen to paper and wrote, “You probably won’t remember this, but that’s okay, you were there, you experienced it, you lived it, felt it, heard it, tasted it, banged it, said it, loved it, hated it, and whether you remember or not, it happened.”
I put the pen down, I slid the paper over to the older me and she/I slid a wrinkled, still manicured hand to the paper, slipping glasses down off of the top of my head to rest on the bridge of my nose and I read, I smile. I nod approvingly.
The older me then takes a lighter, lights this piece of paper on fire, throws it onto the table and lights a cigarette.
I woke up.