I woke up at 4 a.m. crying. My cheeks were wet, my pillow soaked. The only dream I remember was of an older woman, a coworker in her sixties (a dream coworker), grabbing from behind as I was looking for a pair of shoes in my closet. She kissed my ear and asked me to make love to her. Only, she didn’t say “make love.” She said “diddle”–as in, “Will you diddle me?” And she said it in this pouty baby doll voice. And the extra special sad thing is–the thing worth crying over, I guess–is that I actually considered it.

Hey! I was curious about an experienced woman, that’s all. Lay off!

In the end I refused on the grounds that a) she was a co-worker and b) that I was seeing someone, who would probably mind me diddlin’ a senior. I did not refuse, oddly enough, on the grounds that she was probably someone’s grammy.

But I wasn’t upset, so why get all weepy?

Maybe I was crying before Grandma showed up, and she appeared in my dream to comfort me. Only, some wires got crossed and, instead of comforting me, she put the moves on me.

I really shouldn’t analyze this dream too much. I am afraid to shine too bright a light in that particular dark corner of my psyche. Especially where everyone can see.