dream log

I was dressed like a monk but was lifting my robes to take pictures of my ass in a mirror in an elevator to send to a boy who I knew didn't like me while my mom was also in the elevator with me, looking in a different direction to give me privacy. I was convinced she didn’t really know what I was doing.

Then the boy—an imagined person, not someone I know—and I were treading water in the middle of the ocean, trying to stay afloat as huge waves knocked us under the surface. Being knocked down by the waves was not painful, but I still felt that my life was in danger. Each time I surfaced I looked at the sky. The right half of the sky was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, pink and orange and melting and gorgeous, and the left half of the sky was dark gray and deep blue and clouded, and stunned me in a different way.

A boat came and rescued me from the water. A separate boat came and took the boy. I got on the boat and was joking around with the girls who were on it—there were only girls—but somehow I knew that the boat that the boy had been rescued by would crash and that he would die. I did nothing to stop it or to say goodbye to him, because I knew that he didn’t care about me.

I was on the phone with a therapy office and the woman was telling me that a teacher from my elementary school—who I never had as a teacher and barely knew—had gone to therapy there and we could try the same technique they used on her because she had liked it. The technique had something to do with imagination or false narratives—immersing oneself in these.

I was in a classroom-like room sitting at a table with other girls. [Redacted] came up behind me and was petting my head like I was a cat or dog. It felt nice.

I was in the back of a big white van. It was a taxi, but I kept making it stop so I could run to places and get things that I needed and then I'd go back to the van. I had somewhere to be and I was taking too long to get there.

I was in the shower shaving my pussy. I always get it waxed, so this was odd.

Francesca Kritikos is the editor in chief of SARKA, a journal and publisher focused on works of the flesh. Her latest book, The season of lilacs is monstrous, was released by Blush Lit in October 2025. Her writing has been published in English, French and Greek in numerous online and print journals. She also writes the Substack column Body Composition.