Interview With the Animus

‘Nother very intense dream. Can’t remember most of it, but toward the end, two people I know were doing a live sex show that I had somehow been strong-armed into attending. And I kept thinking, I don’t want to watch these two people having sex – they’re not attractive.

And then this man appeared and said, “You do know, don’t you, that you don’t have to watch this? Since you don’t like it?”

He was British, in his fifties. Accent placed him as a Cambridge grad. Rather thin with graying curly hair and those overgrown eyebrows that some men with Celtic heritage develop. A writer, like me. I can’t remember most of the dream, but I can see his face as I type. Nobody I know in real life.

And somehow we were close enough so that he reached over, enveloped me in an embrace, and lifted me up.

How did you do that? I asked. Because he was very slender, and I am a very big girl – 5’10; 140 pounds.

And he laughed and said, It’s just a matter of knowing how. Balance, you know.

And I thought, I want to marry this man. I never want to be apart from him again.

And when I woke up, I thought, Right. My animus.