People tell me their secrets all the time. Honestly. I hear their stories and I want to hear more.

I have one friend who interviews me and that’s a bit uncomfortable cuz I’m not hearing anything new. But then for a minute or two I try on the personality of what  it’s like to be someone who cuts other people off, who navigates all conversational break points back to themselves and it leaves me feeling a bit unhinged.

Like living on a planet with no gravity.

Last night I had a dream that I was having Dr. Oz’s baby. It wasn’t our first. And I couldn’t wait for the pain to start. I imagined the heaviness in my loins as they say in polite society. I saw that I was going to be on a floor with other women. Dormitory style. And we were all going to have our babies together. There was a sea of pink blankets and beds arranged this way and that to maximize the scant floor space.

Dr. Oz was going to hold my hand through the whole process. But each time I felt like I could count on him he went missing. He was consulting with a patient, comforting a nurse. Meanwhile, the urgency of our child coming grew stronger. More pronounced.

And I knew it was just a question of time before I was really deep into it.

I was on the cusp. Pure action. No story there.