Strange Things in the Kitchen, Self-Sacrifice

I have a backlog of things to post, as always, but last night I had some rather intense goings-on in my not-always-happy dreamland that I really need to get out.

I've been hitting a string of nightmare lately.  Weird, shaking, painful ones, hitting the highest point I've ever hit last night as I let myself be murdered.

So, I'm going to start with the dream I had last night that didn't involve death, but it was, uh,.... okay, here it is.

It's worth mentioning that the brother in this dream is in no way related to my irl half-brother Joe.  This was a dream-only character with zero resemblance.  Although, this is still weird as is.

I worked at a restaurant as a waitress, and my brother was a cook.


I went to take a woman her drink of wine, and recognized her from where I work irl (although I'm not sure who she was / if she actually exists / call it a dream thing).  We started talking as I poured some pepper into her table candle to enhance the scent (??).


I went back into the kitchen, which really really resembled another section of booths rather than a kitchen, to find my brother drinking on the job, already pretty far gone.


"What the fuck are you doing?" I demanded, folding the serving platter under my arm.  "You are going to get fired!"


He said nothing, sort of just observing me.


I acted on an impulse, testing the waters that I know are troubled.  I grab him by the collar with my left hand, pulling his head down to my level.  (I'm 5'1" irl and in this dream; he is well over six feet)  We gave each other a long stare.


He gave in, wrapping his arms around my waist and hoisted me into a deep kiss.  He smelled like fresh laundry.  Which is good, but as a cook, shouldn't he smell different?


I backed up, nodded, and went about my job, leaving him to his own devices.


YES.  Dream incest.  WTF.

Thank god that it was not my real brother or I'd be in counseling instead of typing this out.  If there is any symbolism in this, I think I'm missing it.  Also, I've never been a waitress.  Or put pepper into candle wax.

*suddenly tempted to try it*  o__o

Okay, onto the more exciting one.

The setting is a prison break, late at night, with heavy rain.


The prison was almost completely empty.  A group of us were trapped within, unable to escape as the entire prison ground swarmed with armed, dangerous criminals.


I was huddled into a large holding cell with five or six others, cold, scared, awaiting the worst.  There was one prisoner in particular that I knew would be looking for me, with a vengeance.


I did not know why he wanted me specifically.  I just knew that he was coming to kill me.


And he did.


Appearing through the flashes of lightning like a jagged tree's silhouette, he slumped into the cell, carrying with him a motorized, cordless circular saw.

Thank you, www.lowes.com, for powering my nightmares.


I stepped in front of everyone else, determined to protect them.  I knew it was me alone he'd come for.


Within seconds, he had me pinned to the ground, looming over me like a dark predator.  He clicked the machine on, and while aiming for elsewhere, nicked my thigh on accident, tearing it open.


I finally began to feel fear.  I scream outright in agony, feeling the blade rip at me.  I clung to a dying hope that someone was going to come to my rescue, but I knew this was it.  I had chosen this.  I was dying.


The last thing I actually feel is a huff of air from the motor across my bare belly.  When the saw actually hit my stomach, I was beyond feeling.  I was swimming dizzily in a panicked spiral, where all I could hear was the whirring blade and my own distant screaming.  I was slightly aware that my insides were being literally ripped to shreds, but it wasn't long before I swooned in fear, causing me to slowly dissolve into consciousness on the other side.


Makes my stomach hurt just thinking about it @_@

Okay, no idea where that came from.  I'm the one who laughs at chainsaws and the like as weapons.  I don't think I've ever seriously died in a dream like that, that I can remember so vividly.

But I suddenly, even if only in dreamland, understood the psychology behind living a normal life and suddenly finding courage in the face of death.

Most famous example is my favorite historic figure, Marie Antoinette.  She was a sad individual under a lot of stress, having come from her homeland of Austria to marry into French aristocracy.  Then, surprise surprise, Austria and France became enemies.  Fuck her life.

She took out a lot of sadness, I believe, in buying expensive things.  So, on the outside, she lived a shallow life without my detail, only to suddenly buck up in the face of death and accept it nobly, like a truly unconquerable, strong soul.

That's kind of how I felt, knowing I was going to die.  Sudden courage.

In real life, my wager is still me going out like a whining, scared little bitch.

I've always said I'd be the one to challenge a schoolyard gunman by making it a fist fight.

Anyway, toodles for today, I'm off to wear many layers and distract myself from the tummy area.

I am a lardass who figured out how to make pigs in a blanket and then consumed about 14 of them right before bed.  I slept for... um... probably ten or eleven hours.

A Whole Lotta Stuff Crammed Into One Little Post

So I've been slacking on posting all the dreams lately.  I've been getting up super early this week, so it seems like all the crisp detail I'd had is gone by the time I could post.  So, here's a bunch of snippets~

I worked at a wardrobe coordinator for Kanye West.  Everyone that worked for him hated him, but we tolerated him.  Later in the same dream, I met Lady Gaga, but it was not even a big deal.  We waved at each other and kept walking.


I don't know if I like or dislike Kanye cause I've never listened to his music / the only thing I know about him is that he got up on stage while Taylor Swift was getting some sort of award or something.  As for Lady Gaga, I think if I saw her in real life I think I'd just stare blankly at her with a dumb look on my face.  (in a good way!)

That guy from Iron Man 2, Whiplash (picture below) was attacking my work place.  Through fear and whatever else, I managed to dial 9-1-1 and the police arrived and were magically able to take him down despite the hell he gave Iron Man.  hahaha.

image source : wikipedia

I'm lame.  I saw Iron Man 2 but not the first one.  But this guy and his crazy bird were hella scary, yo.

I walked into what was like an abandoned mall with a bunch of guys sitting around on the benches in front of all the closed shops.  They asked me to strip, so I did.

Impromptu stripping?  YaIcandothat.  Weird, but in dreams, everything makes sense.

I had a little duck that I loved and called my own.  I took the duck to the pond to let it play with other ducks. I thought that the bond I shared with this duck was special, so that if I called it back to me, it would come.

It didn't.

I can think of several people the duck could have represented... and how I've been shaped into having separation anxiety by people that I thought would still come back to me even after shit boyfriends.

....okay, there's four people this could be.  Only one of whom I still talk to, because she grew a pair and proved that I had misjudged her / she still wanted to be close to me.  Applause for you, lady.

For the rest... keep on perpetuating a stereotype.  G'won, git.

/soap box

Aaaand now we're caught up.  I've forgotten everything else.  Now, on to last night's epic-ass nightmares.

I do not know how, but mine and Jerry's cat, OHAI, died.  We often remind ourselves in real life, 'Man, we love this cat so much.  It's going to be horrible when she dies.'

I thought that to myself the entire dream, as I did an Inception-like montage of waking up without her crying, sobbing to Jerry.

So cute.

OHAI is not our only cat, but she is a perfect cat.  (We have another, but she is a fiesty little kitten that leaves us with scratches, haha.)  OHAI cuddles us to sleep, has a loud purr, licks our fingers like a puppy would, never scratches or destroys anything.  Best of all, after she got fixed, she started plumping up, so now when she offers her belly for scratchins, she's an adorable little ball of fluff with limbs sticking out.

I do worry about losing her, because there is not a single thing I dislike about this cat.  I love her.

Luckily, she's only about two now, so we (hopefully) have a long and happy life left with this wonderful girl.

I was trapped in a house, late at night, alone.  It's dark, my parent's won't be home until the morning, and my paranoia kicks in.

First, it's little flashes of white along the walls.  Then, it's a white face raking over the ceiling.

I bury myself in the covers, willing it away.  But then, the sounds start.  Howling, shaking, rattling.

Just as I'm about to lose it... the front door snaps open, and in walks my first, and only, dog.  Buster.  Deceased since 2005.

His body is strong again, and I know in my heart he must be an angel.  The light he emits chases away all the shapes in the darkness.  And I rise, going to meet him.

He's everything I remember.  A black lab, with big brown eyes and a white chest.  A red collar with a rabies tag, but no name tag.  I wrap my hand under his collar and he leads me out of the door, which closes behind us.

We walk for hours along a little paved country road, until it's already morning.  No cars pass us.

There is a time skip where I do not remember what happened, but eventually, I am back with my parents and he is gone, and we are unloading the house in the daytime because they believed me when I told them it was haunted.

I can't think of this dog without crying.  He was my best friend, and actually saved my life (or at least prevented disfiguration) when I was younger.  I was walking around my neighborhood when someone's unchained bulldog rushed at me.  Buster came out of nowhere, apparently having followed me, and intercepted the bulldog and held him off until my father was able to catch up to me and grab me.

While very scary, it is one of my favorite memories, that really solidified and exemplifies my feelings for this dog.  I was 13 when he had to be put down, but I still cry whenever I think about him.  There's just some animals that never leave our hearts.

Well, that's it for me.  I know I normally put a summary at the bottom, but I was not paying attention last night.  I ate a cookie before bed and probably slept a good 12 hours.