It’s 85 degrees in my apartment. Seeking relief in the cooler outside air, I found a reason to walk to the grocery store. A lot of people were out, even some lovers tethered to each other by fingertips. Almost everyone’s windows were open. Half-heard bits of conversation floated on the breeze and the darkness amplified household sounds that came from lighted rooms. The block on which I live is characterized by old, ornate apartment buildings, seemingly transplanted from other cultures. The Carmona is a Spanish-style building, the Fleur-de-Lis could sit along the Seine. Another one has a crenellated facade, and yet another is an art deco classic. It’s easy to imagine strolling home in another country, maybe some old street in a European city.

I bought bananas, yogurt, naan, hummus, a cucumber, ice cream, and frozen yogurt. On the way back I dropped off the ice cream at Andrew’s, where he and Kris were making music.

Last night I dreamt of being interviewed for a job at the marketing company I temped at a few weeks ago. The man interviewing me and showing me around was my age, and slim with shortish blonde hair. He had temple-length bangs that he had to flip out of his eyes. His face was long and smooth; I don’t remember his eyes. I’d never seen him before. But our personalities were perfectly complementary and we were immediately, and unstoppably, attracted to each other.

He and another man, this one with olive skin and short dark hair took me to an old building on top of one of Seattle’s hills. It was like the big school on top of Queen Anne, but in the dream it was a ballroom. On the building’s grounds was a Chinese temple with which I was familiar. Its proximity was a comfort to me.

The blonde-haired man talked as we walked, but I can’t remember about what. The only sensation I can recall is riveting sexual tension, a kind of sexual intensity more pure than what I have experienced in reality. In the absence of other sensations, its essence was untainted. No other emotion was present, and the feeling is represented in the dream by the color yellow. The air, the mood, every scene were tinged with it.

From the ballroom’s rooftop, Mount Rainier hovered closely in the dusky light of a summer evening. I exclaimed that what makes Seattle spectacular is that this wall of stone belongs to one mountain and not a whole range of mountains. In the view, Rainier looked close enough to touch and I did try to reach out and touch it.

The second man dropped from perception (I can only recall fleeting images of him in the background) and we returned to the office, where I spent some time with another unidentifiable person to learn about the job offered to me.

But my mind was focused solely on the blonde-haired man and I knew that I would do whatever I had to do to gain access to him. I would take the job I didn’t want. I would betray love to have him.

That other-wordly lust stayed with me for several hours. Despite relatively little sleep, I was wide awake and excited for yoga. On the drive to the studio, I wished for a longer trip and, still powerful from the dream, I decided to leave town for a few hours after class.

This is the most optimistic dream I’ve ever had. The Jungian way to see it: If all of the characters are metaphors for parts of myself, then I think that such an intense drive for and consummation of connection is a good sign. Also, I like that the man is my own age—an adult and not an adolescent or a child. It indicates a connection to mature animus energy: the agent and protector. But he isn’t protecting or helping me in the dream, which male symbols often do in my dreams; we are equal agents. I also like that it’s someone I haven’t seen before, someone I can’t mistake with reality, and real motives. And the setting is home. I often dream of foreign places and foreign men. Foreignness in dreams means new territory. In this dream, familiar beauty is captivating.

But, that was the most rapturous, predatory lust. Throughout the morning my thoughts could return to that moist place at will, and that revisiting propelled me outward.

The sun is an ultrahot laser etching exact geography these last days. All things appear too sharp. The mountains especially, where I was for two hours this morning after yoga.

This was day four of the first week of a three-week yoga intensive. Something small to celebrate on its own. My body feels broken from the erratic and sometimes excessive exercise activity of this year. I have knotted muscles down my back and stressed knees, and I can feel each point of pain every morning at class. On morning four, it’s clear that my body is feeling better. Next week and the week after will only increase the strength and the stretch. Today I practiced head stand; next week, I hope to be able to stay in that position for some time before my back muscles give out.

The intensives are incredible. We learn a series of poses, which we memorize and move through at our own breath pace. Each pose is held for five to ten long breaths. Sometimes, that interval feels like an eternity. A lot of the time, I forget to breathe. The instructor kindly goes around the room demonstrating and repositioning us into the correct postures. From her I’ve learned more about how to use the muscles in my body to correctly enter, sustain, and exit poses than I have from any other yoga instructor I’ve ever taken a class from.

In the heat I’ve been making iced match’a. You have to whisk it with hot water or the tea powder won’t mix. But once you’ve whisked it frothy, you can add ice cubes. As they melt, the surface becomes more frothy, sort of like punch. The stuff is unexpectedly delicious. I think I like it better than the hot version.