I have strange nightmares

They are usually pretty conceptual to begin with, and I only get them about once a year. My top three hallmark nightmares are as follows.
1. When I was little, I had a recurring nightmare that I was traveling down a path of pure white light, delineated only by the ‘greasy napkin’ texture of the roadside. I enter a building of white and see a pulsating white structure, (like the Tornado Slammer when we used to play POGs), well it pulsates faster and faster, and I start to run, at which point this object sends out a wave of blinding white energy (as if everything else around me wasn’t already) that obliterates imperfections like the greasy napkin texture like the Eraser tool in MSpaint or Photoshop. I take it as read that this will include me, and run as fast as I fucking can. This one turned out to be a message from my subconscious not to eat Mexican food before bed. I had it about four times before I figured that out and never had it again.
2. I was at the Cogo’s in this dream, when zombies (I call them that for their behavior, actually they were just the weird people I see on the bus who have heads to small or too large for their bodies) swarm me and chase me down to the river, then rip the recently purchased beef jerky from my hands and depart.
3. I am standing on a balcony of a rather posh Gotham-city-esque skyscraper when two bombers head for the city. They pass each other, and as they are heading out of the city in opposite directions, I see them drop their bombs on the city, and when those bombs hit, two video-game status bars appear, one that reads ‘Scarring’ and the other reads ‘Healing.’ The pulses are spreading out, and I am directly in between both of them.

Most of the time I can control my ‘lucid dreams’ and make them do whatever I want. And I always remember them. My world is a cube of a city, with the building on the side built like an M.C. Escher print, or failing that, Santorini. The top of the cube looks a bit like Mos Eisley during the day, but the buildings grow to Gotham-city proportions at night. Nobody travels to the bottom of the cube, as it is too dark there, and they would simply fall off. It is a world inhabited by attractive people, a bigfoot, muppets, LEGO people, terrorists, werewolves, vampires, and apparently zombies. I work there in the tiki shop, unless called upon to help, in which case I fight crime with my powers, noted to oinclude: the ability to leap and glide, but not fly, telepathy, telekinesis, good hearing, agility, super-speed, super-romantisicm, ultra-charm, wit. Some of these I do not have in real life. Which brings me to my point. You see, THIS is the real nightmare. After a good night’s rest where I have plenty of cash in my wallet and perfect grades, only to awake to find that I am deficient in both, well, it’s rather frightening indeed. But, I suppose, comparisons are odious.

What really bothers me today is that my bus ticket hasn’t arrived, which means I may not get to go home for Christmas. Well, I know I probably wasn’t going to go ON Christmas, but the midnight after, and that I’m quote-unquote “boycotting” Christmas. But it still hurts that I won’t get to see my friends and family back home whilst I have this whole break to do it. I don’t know. I can’t shell out more cash for a ticket, which may be sold out anyways, and travel is a bitch (that’s no excuse, I have all the time in the world and plenty of cash for now). Maybe this is a sign that I shouldn’t go. I probably wouldn’t be spending time with anyone anyways, as they’ll all want to be with their respective families, and I don’t blame them. On the other other hand, my grandmother and aunt will kill me if I don’t go. I hate these tough decisions.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s