A Psychologist's Field Day, or I'm Not Sure What's Wrong With Me, Either

 Here's a dream from a few nights ago:

  I was in seminary. But instead of the cheap plastic chairs we really had, our classroom was full of high-tech equipment and the chairs were space-age-y eggs that faced each other in rows. There was really nothing seminary-like about it, since we didn't have scripture search games or anything like that, but the kids from seminary were there, at least. Sort of. Many were eaten by a mysterious monster that spat out creepy replicas that were far too friendly. Fortunately, that wasn't pertinent for the rest of the dream.

  We all went on a treasure hunt of sorts. We received lockets with a sailboat carving inside. A clear clue telling us to go to THE OCEAN, duh. Once there, we spotted a rope leading to the depths, so we swam/pulled our way down to a large room, full of thousands of locks (no water, at least, though). We then had to search for the lone key, and discover which lock it went to to win the treasure or whatever. I was successful rather quickly, but as I turned the lock, I woke up.

  Dreams are jerky jerkfaces like that.

  Still, it was better than my last dream, which involved (trigger warning?) a man with telekinesis forcing millions of people all over the world to kill themselves. My friends and I formed a suicide pact after I saw in a pool of prophecy how we would all die violently. But, on the way home from the pharmacy where I picked up our needed suicide gear, I ran into the monster man himself. We then had a knife fight, where I had to make the conscious decision to stab him (my dreams are EXTREMELY vivid, so this was a disgusting, horrifying decision). After a few, terrified jabs, though, he laughed and said, "Okay, that's done."

  And then he sliced my thumb off.

  I knew then that I would die that horrible, bloody death that I foresaw.

  And then I woke up! And told my loving husband, who said, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

  I envy those people who have "I was in my underwear in front of the WHOLE SCHOOL" nightmares.

More Sleeptalking

THE SCENE: In bed, about 2 AM. I've had insomnia and I'm in the midst of battling an oncoming cold, so I've slept little. McKay whispers in the dark.

McKay: Oh, my gosh.

Me: [expecting he forgot an important deadline] What?

McKay: That guy totally just punched you in the face!

Me: Wait, what?

McKay: Wait a second. . . I think I may be dreaming.

Me: I suspect as much.

Subconscious, You've Done it Again

 While in California, I dreamed I was pregnant again. With a lion.

  And you know how your hormones go crazy when you're pregnant? Well, I kept trying to eat my friends.

  They were not pleased.

  Do you guys have any good dreams to share? I love hearing weird dream stories. Which is probably why I post so many of mine.

When Bed Bugs Bite

  Last night I dreamed that, due to some natural disaster or another, there were a large amount of baby ducks that had recently became orphaned. Due to logic similar to "you can't help them get out of the shell or they'll be too weak" (never understood that), these baby birds could not be flown to their next location, but had to go via a tiny raft that would eventually drift them to some kind of safe haven or another. I saw on TV that many people were volunteering to transport these baby ducks from their last raft to a new one that would then take them to their final destination. There were short images of attractive firemen herding baby ducks onto tiny canoes, and a number to call if you wanted to volunteer.

  I quickly headed down to the harbor to offer what little help I could, and was thrown in a group of like-minded people. We were greeted by an obese woman in a hideous sweater, who was knee-deep in the water, grabbing at an incoming raft. Rather than the cute, yellow down ducklings I'd seen on TV, these guys obviously had not had an easy voyage. Most were black and brown with muck, and many were in a state of decay. The obese woman grabbed one and said, "These guys aren't good for anything anymore except hors d'oeuvres." She then took a huge bite out of the dead duckling. Its insides looked like a hard boiled egg.

  Horrified, I looked at the rest of the ducklings on the raft. The majority of them were dead, and probably going to be the greeter's snack.

  "Yuck, this one's slimy!" Another volunteer exclaimed as they picked up a rotting duckling, covered in mucus.

  Another raft came in. "Oh, yeah, I heard about these. They definitely didn't mention these guys on the commercial," another volunteer chuckled. On the raft were decapitated baby human heads. I gaped, thunderstruck. One, a toddler, still had their torso and arms. The arms flailed when the volunteer picked it up by the hair, and I realized it was not dead. Or at least it was still capable of reflexes. The volunteer chuckled affably and patted it on the head before setting it on a new raft to take it somewhere else.

  In the morning, I told McKay about my dream.

  "You are a sick and twisted person!" McKay said.

 "It wasn't me! It was my subconscious!" I protested.

 "EXACTLY." McKay said, backing away from me.


   Seriously, what is wrong with me?