whirlwind in my brain every time I sleep

Last night–or rather this morning sometime after waking up starving at 2:30 a.m., eating toast and reading for two hours (Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens) and crawling back into bed to marvel at how I'd forgotten thunder can be R E A L L Y    R E A L L Y    L O U D–I had a dream that I was going to be crowned Miss North Dakota. Only they checked with me first to see if I'd actually accept even though it seems I'd competed in this pageant of my own free will (Meaning no disrespect to pageants, it's just, well, me. My perverse sense of humor answers black lipstick and fake nose ring to the question of pageant). We can realize this means that even in my dream they knew my erratic history of conforming to society. I think they wanted to save their faces and mine by confirming this outcome beforehand in case I took the public moment as a soapbox on how factory farming of livestock and agribusiness contribute more than television to the dwindling of our culture, intelligence, and character as a nation; or expound upon my current moratorium against reading news of domestic politics; or for fear that I would show up as Zombie Miss North Dakota.

I thought about what it would mean to accept the crown of Miss North Dakota and I knew it could only mean one thing: appearing on national television in a swim suit.

I declined and I'm sure they went off to surprise another, more deserving young lady but I woke up.