The Fanstastic Ms. Fox

Like TV: a sunny and rolling landscape, like widescreen California, where youth with magical secrets receive their elixirs. Each bottle strangely numbered to indicate its effects. I secretly quaff those of a fried, her numbers are 3-6-9. Drink this one and I look so young, I look how I feel when I play the larp character Emily the Science Nerd and I realize what was supposed to happen when I was fifteen, but which was derailed by being in the closet. How odd. How pleasant, this. My friend, experience and gothy, she says there's a drawback, a bounce, a price. I'm curious, but not deterred.

Moving on.

Dropping and being someone in a dream is nice, but what happens when the dream is done? Do they wake up with missing time, or do they remember being your puppet? Will this good ol' boy like the fact that a transsexual was dreaming that I was him? At least I did so unknowingly and didn't destroy his life. Saul is out there, and he joyrides his host bodies. And here he comes, angry.

I drift outside of the man I am riding. I let him speak. He's not happy about this. I explain myself, the situation, and leave.

I am a guest here.

This time I wake up in the traveller's lodge. In a body built to spec. It's my proxy self. A fluid disposable with no original consciousness. Much more ethical. And it looks different from how I do day to day. It looks like all those other women who, in my waking life, rounded out the audition room for the EMT role: dark hair in a long ponytail that suits her face, that doesn't make her look like a long-haired rocker boy. Fit, like I am now, but not in such a way that makes her afraid to stretch, lest she tear the shoulders out of her blouse. Someone who had time to be functional, and isn' racing to make up for a decade and a half inching along in the closet. Oh, and a tan. I'm through with sunburns.

It's not that bad in waking life. In waking life, I look pretty sharp, my health is good, and people generally assume I'm a woman. But what's important here, More importantly, most importantly, she's not like the person I remember seeing in the mirror all through the wrong puberty. Not like that ghost that is riding me. As her, I have space.

The body isn't stable of course. But the first thing I could do when I figured out how to work a basic lucid dream is to dream my way into a more comfortable body. And it's an improvement. But even when my focus shifts, and my subconscious self image reasserts itself, my body stays female.
Right. I should really tell people.

I see Christopher, or at least his parallel, and I ask him if he saw The Thirteenth Floor. "Because it's like that."

He's skeptical of course. But this is a dream. And I've been lucid dreaming for a bit and I have my tricks. In this case, telekinesis. Observe sir.

Now he's starting to get it.

Of course, I'm not the only rider in here. There are people here from six, seven universes up. People who stop through my waking life on their way here.

I will swim back up with them later.