David Duchovny, why won't you love me?

I'm in a communal environment, like a dorm or something. I'm aware that some sort of disease is passing around and people are bleaching the hell out of everything. Light switches, doorknobs, everything. Suddenly I feel a swelling in my throat and realize that I've been infected. I reach in my mouth and cough up a thick, leaf-shaped pod the color and consistency of a plump aloe vera leaf. It falls to the floor and everybody begins to panic -- I'm contaminating the place. I keep choking up pod after pod and spitting them on the floor and in the sink. As I'm plucking one out of my mouth, it breaks in half and my mouth fills with green guts.

As these things, which are clearly alive, are falling out of me, I'm trying to join the bleaching fun and sanitize everything. I end up alone in a basement where two folding doors conceal a laundry room.

This dream bleeds into another in which girls from high school are taunting me. They're being so mean, I wake up with tears streaming from my eyes.

Once back to sleep, I was late to a friend's wedding. I was in the wedding party and decided to go exploring the beach while everyone else was rushing around. I get back to the house (my old house, where all the wedding preparation is going on) and my friend begs me not to be late. I shower and make it to the church with wet hair, hairy legs, and white tennis socks under my high-heeled sandals. I sneak the socks off once I've sat down in the wrong seat. The bride is furious. So furious she leaves the altar and makes me watch everyone's children in the back while the wedding party sits in the front row.

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