Nightmare 120707
It started out as me in a therapy session. Woody Allen was my therapist. I was talking about Foxy Boy and he started berating me for wanting to see him. He listed all the ways in which FB is bad for me. And my conscious self though, "I get it, Subconscious. You've made your point. No More Foxy Boy!" Besides, he's moving back to OH anyway. Then, Woody Allen called all my friends into the office and started sharing really embarrassing, personal stories I'd told him in confidence.
That dream faded into:
I was waiting in a classroom-type area to talk to the man in an office attached to the back right of the classroom. Another man came into the room where I was waiting. He was going to physically hurt me, or expose something horrible in my past--it kept switching back and forth. Anyway, there was a short metal bookshelf that came up to my waist. I turned into Jessica (Nikki's evil self on Heroes) and went ape shit on this guy. I started beating the crap out of him. It was horrifying. At one point, I was throwing him over my shoulder and banging him on the corner of the metal bookshelf. I thought, huh, he's just like a rag doll. I could hear his bones breaking. Blood was splattering everywhere. His skin was tearing off. I had beaten him within an inch of his life, but made sure he was still alive. Then, I folded him up and put him in an empty printer box. The man I wanted to talk with came out of his meeting. I told him I had to quit; that I couldn't work there anymore; that I was going through some personal problems. I walked out of there as fast as I could, trying not to run. Trying not to look guilty. I was fumbling with my keys, looking for the one to my car. I panicked for a minute b/c my fingers were only finding my Ralph's card and apartment key and LA Fitness card. Back in the office, my boss feels that something's wrong. He see's a printer box on a desk and opens it to find the face of the man I'd beaten. He runs after me. I lock my doors. The guy he was meeting with stood in front of my car. They were trying to stop me from leaving. I run him over.
Cut to three years later. The guy I'd beaten finally died. His skin couldn't regenerate, so his body gave up. I woke up at 5 am, absolutely petrified. I didn't want to go back to sleep because all I could see was me throwing this guy against the metal bookshelf, watching his skin come off in chunks. Every time I went for my keys today--which was a lot b/c I was running errands--I vividly remembered my key fumbling in my dream. Why can't I remember the funny ones? I had a hilarious dream about
paytheman a couple of months ago, and I can't remember that one to save my life. But I know that five years from now, I'm going to fumble with my car keys and I'm going to think about how I beat someone almost to death. Ugh.
That dream faded into:
I was waiting in a classroom-type area to talk to the man in an office attached to the back right of the classroom. Another man came into the room where I was waiting. He was going to physically hurt me, or expose something horrible in my past--it kept switching back and forth. Anyway, there was a short metal bookshelf that came up to my waist. I turned into Jessica (Nikki's evil self on Heroes) and went ape shit on this guy. I started beating the crap out of him. It was horrifying. At one point, I was throwing him over my shoulder and banging him on the corner of the metal bookshelf. I thought, huh, he's just like a rag doll. I could hear his bones breaking. Blood was splattering everywhere. His skin was tearing off. I had beaten him within an inch of his life, but made sure he was still alive. Then, I folded him up and put him in an empty printer box. The man I wanted to talk with came out of his meeting. I told him I had to quit; that I couldn't work there anymore; that I was going through some personal problems. I walked out of there as fast as I could, trying not to run. Trying not to look guilty. I was fumbling with my keys, looking for the one to my car. I panicked for a minute b/c my fingers were only finding my Ralph's card and apartment key and LA Fitness card. Back in the office, my boss feels that something's wrong. He see's a printer box on a desk and opens it to find the face of the man I'd beaten. He runs after me. I lock my doors. The guy he was meeting with stood in front of my car. They were trying to stop me from leaving. I run him over.
Cut to three years later. The guy I'd beaten finally died. His skin couldn't regenerate, so his body gave up. I woke up at 5 am, absolutely petrified. I didn't want to go back to sleep because all I could see was me throwing this guy against the metal bookshelf, watching his skin come off in chunks. Every time I went for my keys today--which was a lot b/c I was running errands--I vividly remembered my key fumbling in my dream. Why can't I remember the funny ones? I had a hilarious dream about
paytheman a couple of months ago, and I can't remember that one to save my life. But I know that five years from now, I'm going to fumble with my car keys and I'm going to think about how I beat someone almost to death. Ugh.