*cue chimes and wavy, distorted dream transition sequence*
I am walking down the street. A car going in the opposite direction pulls up next to me. The driver leans over and asks, "Excuse me - where are the Gilman steps?"
I pause and think. Ah, yes, I know where they are. I point ahead, in the direction that the driver came from. "It's over this way - I'm heading near there right now. If you actually make a U-y right now and want to drive along with me, I can lead you over there." I beam and feel warm and fuzzy. What a good person I am! Just like the kind of person I am when I'm awake. *smile*
The driver agrees. He pulls past me to make a nice, wide U-turn. My back is turned as I wait for him.
I turn back around and urge the driver onward. I suddenly notice that he is now no longer in a car but in a wheelchair. The other side of the street that he's U-turned onto is no longer a smooth stretch of asphalt, but heavily under construction as a gradually descending set of concrete steps. Still incomplete, in the place of the middle set of steps is a rocky, dark, yawning chasm that has yet to be filled. The man is rolling himself down the steps, per my instruction, oblivious to the gaping hole awaiting him.
I panic as I process this new scenery and connect the dots of cause and effect. Oh. God. "STOP!!" I start screaming - "Don't go any --!!"
TOO LATE.
The poor man doesn't hear me in time. As the last step disappears under him, wheelchair and all, he plummets into the chasm and dies. Shock grabs a hold of me and I turn in utter horror, unable to watch. Simultaneously, the weighty reality of guilt rushes in, and I'm paralyzed with the realization that I was the proximal cause of an innocent man's death.
*cue chimes and wavy, distorted dream transition sequence*
WHAT IN THE FUCK IS MY BRAIN TRYING TO DO TO ME?? THIS IS TRAUMATIZING! THIS IS REALLY FUCKING TRAUMATIZING!! In the middle of a busy work week, in the midst of planning a wedding, I do NOT need to wake up first thing in the morning with the blood of an innocent human being on my hands, dream or not. I am really fucking mad at my subconscious - where does it think up this sick shit?!? This is really a sick joke.
And what pisses me off is that I can't do anything to get back at it. This is really the truest form of guerrilla warfare - while my big lumbering consciousness is asleep, the subconsciousness emerges from the mist like a pack of poop-flinging chimpanzees and forces me to watch a human being - a CRIPPLED human being, no less - fall into a giant hole in the earth and die. Read this definition of "guerrilla warfare" from Wikipedia and tell me that's NOT what my brain is doing to me (emphases my own):
Guerrilla warfare is a form of irregular warfare and refers to conflicts in which a small group of combatants including, but not limited to, armed civilians (or "irregulars") used military tactics, such as ambushes, sabotage, raids, the element of surprise, and extraordinary mobility to harass a larger and less-mobile traditional army, or strike a vulnerable target, and withdraw almost immediately.
MMMMHHMMM.
To add insult to injury, the dream continues like this:
*resume dream sequence*
...and I'm paralyzed with the realization that I was the proximal cause of an innocent man's death. As I begin sobbing, shaking, and otherwise turning into a soppy, goopy emotional mess, two figures emerge out of the air. It's President Truman and Anonymous, Non-Descript Old-Timey President from early American history (you know, they all kind of looked the same), except since there were no photographs of presidents before Polk in 1845, the Old-Timey President appears to me as a cartoon character.
President Truman and Old-Timey Cartoon President proceed to comfort me, rubbing my shoulders and cooing soothing words in my ear, that Wheelchair Man's death wasn't my fault, accidents happen, etc. etc. Gradually, I'm swayed by their words. The dream concludes with my arms around their shoulders, hollering, "Hey, Chris! Can you get a photo of me with the presidents?"
*end dream sequence*
So my brain causes me to murder a man, begin to suffer the moral consequences, and then just tries to smooth everything over with a comical presidential pardon. NO!! It doesn't get let off the hook that easily!! Fucking little imp.
The last time I got pissed off at my brain when I woke up, it had made me dream about making out with Michael Scott. I woke up disgusted and confused.
I remain disgusted, confused, and angry to this day.
