Daily Work: Dreaming

It seems that the bad thing about sleeping all day and all night is that there can be very strange dreaming that confuses the bejeezus out of the sleeper. Every inch of insecurities and anxiety seemed to spill out into that freaky dream. It was some strange thing that started out with me in some odd sort of room-apartment under my mother’s house, with a rented apartment in the room beside. There was some creditor calling and calling and calling about a bill that I owed and had forgotten. The thing was they were calling this next-door neighbor, who was now thing to find me. And I was trying to hide and pretend it wasn’t going on. I couldn’t deal with the idea that there was a bill outstanding that I needed to pay for, so I was in my room-apartment with the lights all out, trying to move as little as possible so that no one would see me and no one would find me. The additional problem was that there was a surprise party for my brother’s birthday and all the firefighters that he works with were going to come to mom’s house to celebrate, though the party wasn’t to start until 2 AM when they all got off work. They were sure to discover me, and even if they didn’t, I was going to have to come out for the party and then the neighbor would find me for sure. I could hear her and sometimes even see her talking at length to her boyfriend about these phone calls and how worried she was that I didn’t come out of my room-apartment. She was certain that she should have someone come break down the door. I was inside, terrified and petrified. Then somehow in the way that dreams work, I ended up kidnapped and in the middle of a terrorist plot to be executed the day after Thanksgiving. The evil mastermind of this plot was Gary, and if I didn’t cooperate, I was to be killed. The target was a large mall. They slipped in while Gary talked to the deejays from a local radio station that had a big mobile home at the mall for the big shopping day. As the mall opened, people swarmed in, and the supporting terrorists secured all the doors and rounded people up as hostages. People who didn’t cooperate were shot. In the rush, I tried to get to a phone, to call someone for help; but the terrorists kept sweeping and and I was afraid I’d be caught. I found a place to hide in an oddly-shaped bathroom stall. If I crammed over to the side, climbed up on the step, and crouched down a bit, I couldn’t be seen. I stayed there, terrified and hiding, waiting for the terrorists to finish clearing the room and leave so that I could emerge and do something. When I finally had my chance, I was out no more than a few minutes before Gary found me. There were SWAT teams and police crawling all over the place outside. I made some excuse for where and how he’d found me, and he took me to some candy store that he’d chosen for the headquarters. We all had to crouch down behind the tall bins of brightly colored candies to keep out of the police officers’ sight. Still, somehow I got away, and I was trying to save my father. To get him moved and hidden, but we couldn’t find the crutch that he’d dropped. Kerri suddenly showed up to help, but Gary was lurking again, so I had to hide them and come out to distract him before he found daddy and Kerri. He took me to a beauty salon, which he’d moved headquarters to. Oddly, the salon was still operating, doing facials and highlights. Gary insisted that we all get our hair colored for some reason. I tried to barricade myself in the salon bathroom, a small closed room where I thought I’d be safe, but Gary saw me and wouldn’t let me close the door. The police eventually broke in and started shooting at people, but Gary got away and dragged me with him. I managed to get a gun and tried to threaten him, but he laughed at me. I shot him anyway, and the police swarmed in. Somehow he escaped and he was fine, as if I hadn’t shot him at all. I shot him over and over, in a half-dozen different places; but every time, he was unharmed and found me and made me go off with him. I was unable to get rid of him, try as I might. At one point, the police had even covered him with a sheet; and he was up again and off. Over and over. I would shoot him point blank in the head, and he’d still be fine and dragging me with him to the next hiding place. I never escaped. I woke up, but with a horrible feeling, all these things hanging over me—the unpaid bill, hiding from everyone, and that inability to get rid of Gary. Maybe sleeping isn’t helpful after all. I wish I had ambien. That is a sweet, silent, deep sleep. I could have avoided all this.