Theft
Here's how I guess this journal will work: I'm not going to preface any thing with "So last night I had a dream about...", because then all my posts would start that way. I'm just going to dive right in. Like this:
For some reason, I had moved into my grandmother's house. I know this, because otherwise why would all (and I do mean ALL) of my stuff be there? I'm hanging out, things are pretty fun, nothing's happening. Then Daniel, my brother, comes barreling into the room, terrified. "Joseph," he says, "Hide everything, quick. That guy's back." No sooner has he said this than some guy saunters into the room wielding a handgun. I don't exactly remember what this guy looks like, but he's sort of a cross between Endless Mike Hellstrom and Richard Edson. Daniel said, "That guy's back," meaning he'd been here before. He looks familiar, but I can't recall ever encountering this person.
At gunpoint, he forces me to load all of the house's electronics (effectively all of my belongings) into his sedan, which is parked across the street in a vacant lot (which is now a used car dealership). DVDs, video games, TV, stereo equipment, computer, everything of any real value. On my second trip, I manage to hide my collection of Indiana Jones DVDs behind the couch before he returns. After loading up the rest of the stuff, he does a once-over of the house, making sure he didn't miss anything. He doesn't find anything, which I find amazing because the Indy movies were pretty much staring him in the face.
On our way back to his car, I jump him and manage to gank the car keys before being hurled off his back. I hide behind the car quick, because I'm almost positive he's pointing his gun at me. I peek out around the edge of the car, and he's holding the gun to Daniel's head. "Don't," he said. I say it in return. He lets Daniel go and holds his other hand out for the keys. I toss them up in the air, and as he's looking up to catch them, I tackle him, wrenching the gun from his right hand.
Before I get the chance to even HAVE the upper hand in this situation, he's already jumped into the car and sped off. Now, for some reason, instead of trying to shoot the car, I start chasing after it. After all, all my stuff is still inside. I fire six shots into the air, trying to alert anyone at all. Nobody is around to notice the gunshots.
I return to the house, where my family is gathered, waiting for me. They tell me I did my best, at least I tried, at least you're ok, all that stuff. And suddenly, I get the uncontrollable urge to start wailing and screaming in a violent rage. Because I'm not upset that someone stole my things. What angered me was the fact that someone effectively stole my identity. Everything that I stood for as a person, everything that represented my effort and interest in this world was gone. But then, of course, I calm down and remember that I have records of everything, because I'm the kind of scrooge who catalogs all his DVDs (which isn't true, but I probably ought to start doing that).
Then I wake up. What the Hell?
For some reason, I had moved into my grandmother's house. I know this, because otherwise why would all (and I do mean ALL) of my stuff be there? I'm hanging out, things are pretty fun, nothing's happening. Then Daniel, my brother, comes barreling into the room, terrified. "Joseph," he says, "Hide everything, quick. That guy's back." No sooner has he said this than some guy saunters into the room wielding a handgun. I don't exactly remember what this guy looks like, but he's sort of a cross between Endless Mike Hellstrom and Richard Edson. Daniel said, "That guy's back," meaning he'd been here before. He looks familiar, but I can't recall ever encountering this person.
At gunpoint, he forces me to load all of the house's electronics (effectively all of my belongings) into his sedan, which is parked across the street in a vacant lot (which is now a used car dealership). DVDs, video games, TV, stereo equipment, computer, everything of any real value. On my second trip, I manage to hide my collection of Indiana Jones DVDs behind the couch before he returns. After loading up the rest of the stuff, he does a once-over of the house, making sure he didn't miss anything. He doesn't find anything, which I find amazing because the Indy movies were pretty much staring him in the face.
On our way back to his car, I jump him and manage to gank the car keys before being hurled off his back. I hide behind the car quick, because I'm almost positive he's pointing his gun at me. I peek out around the edge of the car, and he's holding the gun to Daniel's head. "Don't," he said. I say it in return. He lets Daniel go and holds his other hand out for the keys. I toss them up in the air, and as he's looking up to catch them, I tackle him, wrenching the gun from his right hand.
Before I get the chance to even HAVE the upper hand in this situation, he's already jumped into the car and sped off. Now, for some reason, instead of trying to shoot the car, I start chasing after it. After all, all my stuff is still inside. I fire six shots into the air, trying to alert anyone at all. Nobody is around to notice the gunshots.
I return to the house, where my family is gathered, waiting for me. They tell me I did my best, at least I tried, at least you're ok, all that stuff. And suddenly, I get the uncontrollable urge to start wailing and screaming in a violent rage. Because I'm not upset that someone stole my things. What angered me was the fact that someone effectively stole my identity. Everything that I stood for as a person, everything that represented my effort and interest in this world was gone. But then, of course, I calm down and remember that I have records of everything, because I'm the kind of scrooge who catalogs all his DVDs (which isn't true, but I probably ought to start doing that).
Then I wake up. What the Hell?