I'm my nightmare's worst nightmare

I'm my nightmare's worst nightmare

I don't think I have nightmares anymore. I have dreams where I get scared, and then I beat the hell out of things. Last night, for example...

So Jessie and I are working for some law enforcement agency. Consultation stuff, we'll say. At some point, we get made by some bad guys. A cop takes us under the radar and has us doing bad things in the name of capturing the guys who are chasing us. Demeaning things. You know the stuff, but it's all in the name of capturing the bad guys.

Anyway, at some point the cop sends us to a safehouse which, in this case, is a mix between my parent's house and my grandma's old apartment. Jessie sits on the couch, and I get paranoid. Too many lights are on in the house. The blinds reveal too much of us inside. I start making my way around the house, flicking off switches and angling blinds--not too much so as to completely close them and make it obvious that someone doesn't want others to see in but enough to prevent people walking down the street from getting the detailed layout inside. When I come to the front of the house, I see an unfamiliar car parked across the street. I turn to tell Jessie about it, and when I turn back, I see the cop's beat up VW van idling in the middle of the street. Up to this point, I'm terrified of whomever--or whatever--is chasing us. Looking out the window, I snap.

With my fists balled, I break the glass and yell at the two vehicles. I scream and shriek. I turn around and tell Jessie to run and hide. She runs through the kitchen and as I round the turn into the kitchen myself, I see our assailant standing before me, cutting me off from Jessie. He's enormous, almost seven feet tall with broad, linebacker shoulders. A Mexican wrestling mask covers his face making him look clown-ish, and he's holding a rifle. The rifle has a cherry red handle and a long, transparent barrel. It's filled with gumballs. The attacker says something about showing me "the spirit of Christmas", and points the rifle at me. Big mistake.

I grab some silver platter that conveniently sits on the counter and swing in hard into the side of his neck. He's stunned long enough for me to take his rifle and--with the handle of the rifle still facing him--I beat him on the head. And I keep beating him. And the gun starts flying apart. And I keep beating him. And he's on the ground unconscious. And I keep beating. Finally I tell Jessie to take off his mask. It's the cop who had pretended to protect us. A normal cop rushes in behind us and takes the bad cop into custody. He mentions something about the guy being a rogue cop, missing for a year before I woke up.

You see what I'm saying. That started off very much as a nightmare, and eventually I beat a Mexican linebacker/rogue cop so hard his gun breaks. That's one of a number of similar dreams I've had recently. Clearly bizarre phobias ain't no thang in my subconscious.

D