I have a doctor’s appointment today. Just a routine checkup—nothing to worry about. I always enjoy seeing my doctor. He’s very kind and, frankly, very good-looking (hence part of the blog title). Since I still have vacation time to use before the end of May, I took this morning as sick leave and this afternoon as vacation. So: no work for me today.

Last night, I had another one of my steamy dreams.

Earlier in the evening, I’d been thinking about a vacation I’m planning in April. I know I’ll be going to several gay bars, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll finally get some relief for whatever these dreams are trying to tell me. The dream began with that trip… and then drifted back to my office.

Several years ago, when I was briefly on Grindr, I was messaged by a young man. As we chatted, I realized he was a student. Any sexual relationship with a student—even an online one—is grounds for immediate dismissal, so I told him why I was hesitant to continue the conversation. That’s when he calmly said he knew who I was because he used to be a student worker at the museum.

The restrooms are in the same entrance area as the reception desk where our student workers usually sit. He told me that every time I walked into the restroom, he fantasized about me fucking him in one of the stalls.

He never showed me his face, but he had a fantastic body—and an impressive dick. I didn’t believe him at first. I was heavier then, badly out of shape, and at least twenty years older than him. But he said I was his type. He liked older, larger men.

We even made plans for him to come to my apartment. He never showed, which was probably for the best.

Later, I realized who he was from the student workers we’d had. After standing me up, he returned to work at the museum and seemed more comfortable around me than before. I noticed him looking at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. We never spoke about Grindr, and I never let on that I knew who he was.

That May, he graduated, joined the Marines, and disappeared from my life.

Which brings me to the dream.

In the dream, it’s seven years later. He shows up at the museum and comes into my office. He asks if I remember him. I say of course I do. He asks if we can close the door.

Once it’s shut, he reminds me of that Grindr conversation—the student who used to fantasize about me. I tell him I remember. It’s not something you forget. He says he’s always regretted not coming to my apartment and that he’s sorry he stood me up. He’s nearly in tears.

I stand up and hug him. He melts into me and tells me how hard it was seeing me every day for the rest of that school year. Then he straightens himself and asks if he can take me to dinner that night. He’ll be in town for a few days.

We meet at his hotel at six and go to a nice Italian restaurant. The conversation is awkward at first, but then it flows. I ask about the Marines. About MMA. I knew he’d won a regional tournament when he was in college.

At the end of dinner, I try to pay, but he insists.

Back at his hotel, he invites me up. As soon as the door shuts behind us, he presses me against it and kisses me—hungry, urgent, like he’s been holding this in for years.

For once, I don’t wake up before the dream gets to the good part.

I give him exactly what he’s been wanting all these years.

And then something strange happens: I start to wake up, but the dream doesn’t stop. My body is in bed, but my mind is still there—still walking out of his hotel room, still feeling the echo of his hands on me, already imagining the next time I’ll see him.

I wake fully just as my dream-self is leaving his room, hard and flushed, caught in that half-awake haze where desire lingers even after the scene ends.

Eventually, things settle down and I drift back to sleep—though not before Isabella notices I’m awake around 2:30 a.m. She makes a halfhearted attempt to get me up for food, then decides my hip will do just fine and curls back up with me.

P.S. For anyone unfamiliar with the reference, “Dr. McDreamy” comes from Grey’s Anatomy, where it’s used as a nickname for a devastatingly handsome doctor… and if you’re going to have a hot doctor and a sex dream in the same post, you might as well commit to the bit.

While I’m feeling better today, I’m still not 100 percent. I seem to have entered the postdrome phase of my migraine—often called a “migraine hangover.” The symptoms usually include fatigue, difficulty concentrating, head tenderness, and mood changes.

For me, I think of it as a shadow headache. The headache is still there, just not as intense—like it’s hiding in the background. I also tend to get brain fog during this phase, when thoughts and movements feel slower than usual, as if everything is happening a half-step behind.

That being said, I’m going to skip a poetry post this week. I’m just not up to writing one right now. I have class preparations and meetings today, and while I wish I could stay home another day to recover, tomorrow I’m out for my first appointment with my new neurologist at the Headache Clinic. Then it’s right back into things with a class first thing Friday morning.

Sometimes listening to your body means easing up where you can—and this week, poetry will have to wait.

Tomorrow is not exactly shaping up to be my favorite day.

I have a root canal scheduled at 10 a.m., and I’ve been dreading it ever since it was put on the calendar. I know—modern dentistry, numbing, skilled professionals, all of that. I believe the reassurances. I still don’t like the idea.

As if that weren’t enough, we’re also under a Winter Weather Advisory and an Ice Storm Warning. The heaviest ice accumulation is expected between midnight and 10 a.m., which means I’ll be heading out right in the thick of it. Temperatures are supposed to drop quickly behind freezing, with gusty winds that could cause additional power outages into Tuesday. Honestly, I’m not thrilled about any part of that.

That said, I do have one small thing working in my favor: I’ve actually fallen asleep during a root canal before. Apparently, once I’m numb and reclined, my body just decides it’s nap time. So maybe that’s the plan tomorrow—carefully make it through the icy roads, close my eyes in the dentist’s chair, drift off, and wake up wondering when it’s all over. 😂

I’m hoping for a smooth procedure, minimal discomfort, safe travel, and maybe a well-earned afternoon of staying put afterward. If nothing else, I’ll remind myself that this is one of those days that’s unpleasant anticipating it, but usually manageable once you’re actually in it.

Here’s hoping tomorrow goes quickly—and quietly.

Wish me luck.

Update – 7:10 a.m.: My dentist appointment has been rescheduled due to the weather. The office will call me tomorrow to set a new date. I’m honestly very relieved that I don’t have to get out in this mess—driving in these conditions had me genuinely worried. Dental appointments can be difficult to reschedule, so we’ll see what happens next, but thankfully this root canal isn’t an emergency.

Everything seemed to go fine yesterday. I spent most of the day sleeping, which was probably exactly what my body needed. The endoscopy showed no esophageal varices, which was a huge relief. The doctor did take a few biopsies of some discoloration in my throat, but that was purely precautionary and nothing to worry about—most likely just irritation from acid reflux. Today I’m left with a sore throat, but that’s a small price to pay for peace of mind.

This afternoon I head to the dentist to get the permanent crown for the tooth I had worked on last month. After that, I’m officially away from the office until January 5. I’ll work from home tomorrow, but otherwise things are slowing down a bit.

The weekend will be spent packing and getting ready for my trip to Alabama. My plane leaves at the painfully early hour of 5:30 a.m. Monday morning, so Sunday night will be an early one. For now, I’m just taking things one step at a time and grateful that yesterday brought mostly good news.

I hope your week is treating you gently.

I woke up this morning with a migraine and am currently sitting here with my coffee, trying to decide whether I’m going to call in sick or if this will be one of those migraines that eventually eases up. Right now, it’s a waiting game.

I’ll admit, part of me simply doesn’t want to go to work today—but I also hate calling in sick, especially on a Monday. Mondays already feel heavy enough without adding guilt to the mix.

So for now, I’m sipping coffee, giving my head a little time, and seeing how things go. I hope your Monday is starting out better than mine, and I hope the week ahead is a good one for all of us.

☕️

Update: I did go in to work. The migraine isn’t gone, but it’s manageable for now. If it gets worse, I’ll head home.