Okay, its dream time again. Last night, I dreamed I was in a warehouse, trying to help put things where they needed to go. But for some reason, I was dressed like an Old Testament prophet, wearing a robe and carrying a staff.

The people working there would gently shoo me away from the area they were working in, so I went form area to area, looking for a way to assist.

Right now I feel a little like the woman in the scene from the movie "airplane" who starts panicking, and then the whole plane lines up to slap her.

When it's not depression, or PTSD, it's my gender dysphoria taking it's turn at kicking me around, and that's where I am right now.

Ah, well. This too shall pass ...

So I had my interview for Pride Month, and I think it went pretty good.

As soon as it is announced, I'll share a link where you can see it.

I feel like I'm a horrible person.

The stuff that is most upsetting to me, the gender dysphoria, the PTSD, they are so PETTY.

So insignificant compared to the suffering of others, especially right now.

Sighs ... I could use a hug or three ..

I'm going to be interviewed for a segment on Pride month next week. Wish me luck, wont you?

So last night I dreamed I was on a spaceship. It was designed a little like a sub, in that every so often there was a doorway with a door that could seal off an area if a breach occurred. I was looking for something, which has been a common theme of a lot of my dreams, by the difference in this dream was that it was clear I didn't belong, as I was always trying to keep out of the sight of the crew and passengers.

Well, since recently I've dreamed of being a movie star and a superhero, I guess I can add spy to my list of dream jobs ...

Anybody who has gone through male puberty can tell you, it's stressful. It's stressful enough for a cis boy with no other major stressors, but it was worse in my case, as neither of those things was true for me.

The worst part was whenever I got aroused, and my male equipment did what it's supposed to do under those circumstances. Those moments were incredibly painful, both physically and psychologically, and I sometimes feel I barely survived them.

Its been a while since I've given an update on what stories I'm working on, so here goes:

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Dot:set in Amethyst's Hyperverse, its the story of a young man with gender issues, who is turned into a girly girl.

Rose the Bunny:Is it weird that I'm writing a Christmas story in May? This one is thanks to Rosy Redd, so when it comes out, blame her. :P

The secret of Myth:Its possible everybody gave up on this story, cause I had nothing for a long time. But its not dead yet ...

Finished my essay, and it's posted. You folks will have to tell me what you think;
https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/84629/origins-1

Here is a story challenge: A student (any age), upon returning to the classroom, is given the assignment to write about what they did while on social distancing.

So what does the student write?

Okay, so last night I had a pretty strange dream. In the the dream, I was at a house with a bunch of other people, when a man came in with a huge trunk. He opened the trunk, and furniture popped out - and creatures I can only describe as shadow-spiders, basically a ball of darkness with little tendrils that it used like legs.

I backed up, and said, "I'm afraid of those shadow-things."

As if attracted by the sound of my voice, one of the shadow-spiders leaped towards me, with shadow fangs ready to strike.

I got a new story up. Hope you guys like it: https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/84436/coven-encounter

So last night, I got to thinking about a conversation I had a few days ago, where I mentioned I always found kissing someone on the lips upsetting. And in fact I used to say I'd rather kiss or be kissed anywhere but the lips. As I was mulling this over, it occurred to me that this sense of panic reminded me of the panic I got going into a shower, and I wondered if it has a similar cause - that at some point, a kiss on the lips got associated with something terrible, something I couldnt recall consciously recall but my body responded to.

Well, yesterday ended up going better than I could have hoped. Sharon and Sam cried after Po was put down, but Sam was no longer angry, and indeed seemed to be at peace with his passing. I am thanking God and breathing a sigh of relief.

Dysphoria, manic-depression, PTSD, grief, and anxiety. I'm getting hit by all of the above, plus one more. Guilt. Guilt that I'm struggling with petty problems while people are dying from this virus.

Sighs ...

So last night I dreamed I was at a church function. I was upstairs, cleaning up a bunch of toy trucks, and then went downstairs to see that all the girls had turned the dining area into a fancy tea party. My dysphoria hit me like a physical blow, and I dumped my load of toy trucks on a counter and staggered back upstairs. I woke weeping.

After I published my last little piece, I was informed I've been mislabeling them as "drabbles". I always thought a drabble was 100 words or less, apparently its 100 words exactly. So what do I do about the section of my stories titled "Dorothy's Drabbles"?

Suggestions please.

In hopes of providing a giggle in these dark times, I've come up with a little drabble:
https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/84020/transformation-...

So last night I dreamed a pretty interesting dream. It started with me seemingly on board a space station desperately trying to prevent an explosion that would kill everyone on board. But then I was sitting in a movie theater, watching me save the day. I left the theater, and encountered a small girl dressed as my character. She recognized me, and I gave her an autograph.

Kinda neat, no?

Well, we are all breathing a sigh of relief. Samantha does not have the Corona virus, so we've all dodged a bullet.

Huggles for everybody!

At approximately 2:30 pm Mountain time, our furry companion, Little Lady, passed from this world.

Here is how I feel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AUeuODPofpo

As I spend my last weekend with my dog, its starting to bug me that I cant seem to cry.

we've had her for 15 years, and I love this silly fluff-ball.

But somehow I cant seem to actually cry.

What's wrong with me?