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Nightmare 1

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Apr. 8th, 2012 | 12:39 pm
location: Home
mood: nervousnervous
music: Pink Floyd "Animals"

Wow. What an intense last hour of sleep. Seriously, that was nuts. I think this dream stems from all the 'Breaking Bad' episodes ive been watching. Lots of crime, mexicans wanting their money. etc.

I was walking home. Down my street on Springfield. A balding Mexican fellow followed me for a minute (one of my biggest fears is being followed in Chicago--or anywhere). He then stopped me and tried to talk nice to me, asking me to buy a newspaper for the homeless or something of that nature. I could tell right away he was full of shit. There was an awkward silence underneath his merchant additude. As soon as I thought, "Wow, this dude really just wants to steal my purse," his eyes opened real wide, and he began coming closer to me, his hand asking nicely for my items. I knew i should have just cooperated, but i had tons of stuff. My laptop, $$, clothes, all my ids, etc. I wasnt going to give it up that fast. He smiled and said, "oh your going to be like that, eh? Come on baby, you know i always get what I want. Your fucked."

I inched closer and closer to home, with his sweaty bald head on my every move. Finally we got to my place, and I tried running inside. No dice. He took everything I had. As this was happening, the streets were very crowded. Crack addicts and children, walking fast paced, acting as if they don't see the utter fear in my eyes. He takes my stuff, passes it along to a friend, and follows me upstairs (my back porch). My mom is inside with my Aunt Janet and Aunt Pam, drinking wine and laughing the night away. I walk in hysterical, cant breathe, just choking on every word. The dark figure is still atop my back porch, just pacing back and forth---contemplating different ways to "finish the job".

I remember asking a blonde drug addict how she deals with the streets everyday. She says she just acts like "them", either a junkie or out to get other people. I thought to myself, "she doesn't really have to try that hard"...haha, but i executed that technique all the way back home and it really was the only thing that worked.

When i approached the back porch again, dude was still there with that sick smile on his face. He was waving his hands, trying to motion to me, that the damage still needed to be done. He needed to teach me a lesson, a lesson that i should never walk the streets without being a criminal.

He started looking at the siding on the house, in the well of the back porch. Again, i could read his mind, he wanted to destroy my house. He didnt want to hurt me, but something had to break. He set the siding on fire. It burned just enough to expose the room next door, someone elses apartment. He flicked his cigarette, grabbed my bags, and went on his way.

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