I dreamt I was pregnant. And pleased.

I dreamt I was roasting live fish by the ocean, against a violently setting sun. The fish turns dark and charred inside the fire and I place it with great care on my plate. It changes. Turns into earthworms which refuse to die. They try to escape my plate, my fork, the cave of my mouth where I thrust them in anyway.

And slurp them like slippery, electric noodles. Question marks hanging from my mouth.