Dreams

I have the most messed up dreams on the face of the planet.  I don’t mean aspirations, I mean the kind of dreams you have while you sleep.  They are never normal.  I have never had a dream that I woke up from going, “Ah, that was a sweet story,” or, “That was cool.”  I usually have dreams that start out normal and then become something of, either, an acid trip, a nightmare, or a dream of inadequacy.  Let me explain the dreams of inadequacy.  It’s not me comparing myself to someone else or failing at something I’m normally great at, it’s extreme.  For example, I had a dream once that one of my favorite little kids was kidnapped by some crazy Asian people that ran a Chinese Opium den and I had to save her.  I had to go all “Taken” on those crazy Asians!  But I wasn’t super Tracy.  I was just regular Tracy; regular Tracy who ran in slow motion.  It was the worst dream ever because I was trying to do all these things and everything was in slow motion!  I saved her in the end, but the whole time I remember screaming, “I’m just Tracy!  Why can’t I be Super Tracy?!” That is a dream of inadequacy; being in a super situation and not being super.  I hate it.

Acid trip dreams are easy to explain.  They’re normal and then all of a sudden turn into colorful, confusing, craziness that involves lots of places, time travel, people, and hallucinations within the dream.  For example, I have had one where I was walking around Hogwarts and then the walls started bleeding paint (in various colors) and there was a mime playing the piano over my head wherever I walked.  That is an acid trip dream.

My nightmares aren’t the average run of the mill zombies attacking, monsters hunting me, or ghosts trying to chase me.  No.  My nightmares are always hostage situations.  ALWAYS.  I AM ALWAYS IN A HOSTAGE SITUATION IN A NIGHTMARE.  And it’s not like I’m in a huge group of people in a hostage situation, it’s usually just me in a basement chained to a chair and watching this psychopath sharpen a huge, rusty knife or load a gigantic rifle with bullets.  No, never a handgun, always a rifle.  And the guy almost always looks like Sloth from Goonies, when he doesn’t look like him, he looks like a really handsome guy that I usually went on a date with and ended up in the trunk of his car.  And I’m never quiet about getting abducted.  I’m always screaming and anytime it happens, no one is paying attention or cares.  I’ve even passed a cop while being abducted and he smiled and said, “Have a nice night you two!” Really, my faith in the American judicial system greatly decreases after one of those dreams.  Then I always end up dead because I’ve either come loose and tried fighting the guy or I’ve been screaming/talking/annoying him too much because he forgot to duct tape my mouth shut.  One time I got shot in the neck and I woke up convinced I had been shot in the neck.  These nightmares are no joke.

If my dreams are the least bit realistic, they freak me out into thinking I’m psychic and have had a vision of the future.  Déjà vu dreams, for lack of a better term, are what I usually have.  And they are never important things.  They are completely inane moments of the day, like brushing my teeth and then having a conversation with someone at school/work.  When I dream them, I’m like, “Ugh, here we go again.  A future slice of my boring life.” But when they happen, I’m like, “Woah. I’m psychic.  I’ve seen this before.  I’m like That’s So Raven, but without the whole staring off into space thing.”  Then I feel legit.  For those ones that seem so real and like psychic visions, I hope they are because then I’ll totally end up married to Ryan Reynolds and starring in so many movies in Hollywood they give me a star on the walk of fame before I’m 40. 

The reason I’m posting this today is because I had the most messed up dream of all time last night.  I dreamt that my mom and I were living in a house that was basically the same layout as our apartment but it had an upstairs.  Tara Soressi and Jessie Jolley were visiting us for the weekend and my mom decided it would be a good idea to bring home 2 new pets: a bunny and a dog.  To fully understand why this is a horrible decision, you have to understand how much I don’t like animals.  I have never liked animals.  I think I missed that gene in gestation.  Whenever we had field trips to animal centers or zoos, I was the one in the back asking when we were going back to school or doing something else.  They’ve never been interesting to me, dogs used to chase me as a child, and I have only ever liked one dog in my life.  I don’t like animals.  I barely tolerate them.  It’s terrible.  Anyways, she comes home with a bunny that looks exactly like the one from Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail so naturally I’m terrified it’s going to eat me.  Then she brings in this dog that looks like the Caesar Dog Food dog, you know, the white puffy one.  And not only does she bring them into the house, but specifically puts them in my room because she knows I won’t touch them to get them out.  So I’m arguing with her.

                “Mom, why did you get two pets?!”

                “I thought it would be good for us.”

                “WHY?!”

                “Well, we’ve never really had pets before and I thought now would be a good time.”

                “So you got a bunny and a dog?!  Did you get anything to take care of them with? Like a leash, a cage, food?”

                “No.”

                “How are we supposed to take care of them?!”
                “Well, I didn’t think about that.”

                “Mom, take them back.”

                “No, we can’t take them back until tomorrow.”

                “Why tomorrow?”

                “Because we have to have them for at least a day before we decide we don’t like them and then we can bring them back.”

                “Again, how are we going to take care of these animals for one day if we don’t have ANYTHING to take care of them with?”

                “I don’t know, we’ll figure it out.”

We have no leash for the dog.  We have no home for the bunny.  And we have no food for either.  This is gonna go really well.  So Tara and Jessie take care of the animals and I’m ignoring them.  Somehow they make it through the night and the next morning I convince my mom to take them back.  So we go into my room and I find the bunny, which has officially turned into the bunny from Monty Python and is trying to eat my face and I turn around and go, “Where’s the dog?”  The dog has turned into a baby deer.  A BABY DEER. Not just any baby deer, but a flipping psycho baby deer that’s jumping ALL OVER THE PLACE. Mind you, my room is really small, so it’s bouncing off walls, the ceiling, my head, etc. 

                “Mom!  Your dog is a deer! Control your flipping deer!”
                “Be nice to the deer, Tracy.  Be gentle.”

                “Be gentle?!  The deer is jumping 6 feet in the air and trying to kick me in the face and you want ME to be gentle?!  You’re out of your mind!  These beasts are being released into the wild.”

                “No, Tracy.  We can’t throw them outside!”

                “It’s a rabbit and a deer.  Deer aren’t supposed to be DOMESTIC!  The bunny will be fine.”

I try really hard to get the animals outside, but it’s just not happening.  So I do what I say during scary movies: pants, keys, car, leave.  As I’m walking out the door to my car I realize where I am.  My house is in the middle of Chandler Field at SVU and there are a TON of students running around.  Not just SVU students, but some of my old Gilford High School classmates.  For every five SVU students, there are five GHS students.  And it was a disaster.  My two friends from SVU were with some of my least favorite GHS students.  My friend Tyler was engaged to one of them (who spent high school sleeping around and was the biggest jerk ever) and my friend Greta was dating the other one (who is currently in prison).  It was too much for me.  I woke myself up saying, “I’m done.”  It was so messed up.  I couldn’t handle it.  I woke up and instantly got out of bed so I wouldn’t fall asleep again and continue the crazy dream.  I told my mom about it and she just goes, “I would never get animals for our house.  But if I did, you’re right, I would put them in your room because I know you wouldn’t touch them and it would piss you off.” 

Clearly my mother knows how to comfort me after a terrible dream.  Thanks mom. 

Oh, and that was sarcasm, in case it didn’t translate through typing.