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I used to dream that I showed up at school wearing only my underwear.
That I missed the bus and couldn’t find the school.
That I never began the research paper we were supposed to be writing all semester.

Now I dream that I’ve forgotten my son’s camp forms and they won’t let him in.
I dream that I’ve told a friend I will meet her, but I go shopping instead.
I dream that everyone else’s children are ready for the show but mine.
That I am too late.
That I forgot to get a babysitter.
That I forgot a child.
That I forgot the entrance pass for the Ravens practice my sons have been desperately awaiting.
That I forgot a pen for the autographs.
That I met Joe Flacco in the pasta aisle but had no pen for him to sign my tattered grocery list.
Oh wait. That actually happened.

Now I dream that when I grow up, I will be organized.
That I will miraculously but very definitely pull myself together.
That I will say the right thing at the right time, putting the whole room at ease
As I stand in front of them, poised, graceful, and a bit mysterious,
Reading (in a compelling voice)
From my latest book of poems.