No, I’m not confessing my aspirations of being a UFC champion. But, last night, I did dream that Hubby and I were supposed to participate in amateur mixed martial arts (MMA) fights.

Friends and family were in the stands and excitement was in the air. People were wishing me well and instead of getting psyched up, I was starting to get cold feet. I walked by a poster featuring the women’s bouts and I saw my competition. Massively huge women, if you could call them that, scary, steroid-inspired muscle-bound meanies scowling at the camera, their glares jumped off the page and down my throat. Then, there was my photo, my cheesy smile stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Oh my gosh, these women could knock me out and kill me,” I thought. I imagined myself being hit with the force of a wrecking ball and never waking up. Then, I determined that I had to forfeit my fight, wave the white flag, anything to get out of the pummeling I was sure to receive.

I sought out Hubby who was also getting ready for his fight. He looked like he was in top shape and ready to rumble. Other fighters were taping up their knuckles and shadow boxing in front of the mirrors.

“I can’t do it, Hubby,” I told him, feeling like a major cop-out.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to. No one is forcing you to go through with it. Just find the ref and tell him you’re forfeiting. It shouldn’t be a problem,” he hugged me tightly and I knew that he loved me no matter what: wuss or not.

I had another dream about losing my teeth. This time it was only one and it was due to biting a Kal Bi bone, and not attending to it right away. Five months, to be exact. It was loose for all that time, until finally it just fell out.

Fast-forward to the next scene: I was at the dentist’s office. The waiting room was full of people, screaming kids, and old men falling asleep in their chairs. I had been there for hours, waiting to be seen as I held my freshly fallen tooth in the palm of my hand and my tongue kept wandering to the new gap between my teeth. The tooth was hollow, as if everything on the inside just rotted away. Root and all. I was mortified about having lost my tooth and felt stupid about not seeing the dentist sooner. Mom was sitting in the waiting room next to me, I was in high school.

Then, to make matters worse, I had to use the restroom. Badly. The receptionist gestured to a hallway and instructed me that it was the second door on the right. When I got there, it was the most disgusting restroom I had ever seen. No doors and no toilet seats; scary, dim lighting. Every single toilet (there were three) had crap all over it, but nature was calling. Screaming, actually. Of course, toilet seat covers were not available, but luckily, an ample amount of tissue were on hand. I started layering the toilet with sheets of paper, but everything kept seeping through the tissue. I kept layering and layering… I wondered if I could hover my butt over the toilet without allowing anything to touch my skin… layering and layering… meanwhile, my stomach is gurgling and I have to make a decision soon…

It was truly a nightmare, champuru style. A vivid one.