She

I don't know how I got here. This place is huge. The halls seem endless. Every room holds something different... some just odd, some unfathomable. I can't remember which way to go if I turn back the way I came. I remember being in different rooms, but all I can bring up in my mind is a series of cloudy, strange images. I know there was something outside. It had one huge eye in the middle of its face... I remember running away from it. I don't know if I was looking out of a window, or if I ran in here to escape the thing. I remember being so scared...

I don't want to go back. I don't want to go forward, either, but I don't want to be stuck here forever.

There is another door in front of me. I think about continuing on down the hallway to my right, but my hand reaches forward and grasps the handle. It's almost an independent act. It's like sitting in a theater, watching a horror movie. I'm thinking, "NO! Don't go in there! That's where the thing is that's going to get you!"

The door edges open. I feel my feet moving forward. I can hear something moving on the other side. My heart is pounding hard. There is that electric, terrified feeling in my chest. I don't want to see it. Horrible images of dead things and toothy, sharp-clawed monsters are playing in my head. It's going to eat me, and I'm going to feel every... single... bite.

I can't stop. I can't control my feet, as they propel me forward, stepping through the doorway, walking slowly into the room against my will. Tears leak from my eyes. I can hear a soft moan... it's coming from me. I'm unable to control that, either. I feel like a coward for reacting to the fear.

Shame joins the terror, and all of the tears flow...

but... it's not a monster.

She's an inch or two shorter than I am... very curvy, pale, with deep red hair, and wide, dark eyes, wearing some kind of flowing, low-cut, top that makes her look kind of gothic, or maybe witchy. The look she gives me could only be described as soft... maybe kind. A low, quiet voice rolls out of her full, dark lips. "Don't cry... now, it's not like that. You went into the bad rooms, didn't you?"

I am rooted to the floor. I feel hope, but I'm still afraid. She's shockingly beautiful. She seems so sweet, but when she realizes what a coward I am, she's going to be disgusted with me. I bet she sees the things I'm afraid of all the time.

She steps forward, holding her arms out to me. Unable to move, I watch her approach, feel her fingers on my arms. I watch her face for signs of a change in attitude toward me. I can't even wipe the tears from my cheeks.

Sympathy creases her brow, and my heart pounds again. She's seen my weakness. She's not going to help me. I'm not good enough.

Instead, one hand eases up and wipes the wetness from my face, brushes my hair back, and rests on the back of my head.

"Come here," she says, but she comes to me. I'm drawn into an embrace. Her arms are strong but gentle. A warmth spreads through my chest as I finally begin to feel confident. I'm not going to be rejected, and I don't have to go back out to the scary part of the house. I don't have to confront another monster. The paralysis begins to fade, and I am able to return the embrace. Relief floods through me as I raise my arms, wrap them around her and let her pull my head down to rest on her shoulder, and she lays her rounded cheek on mine.

I begin to relax, pulling tighter into the hug, just before her teeth sink deeply into my throat with a wet, crunching sound like someone biting into a juicy apple... and a moan of total satisfaction.

I don't even know how to begin interpreting this, except that I've been terribly stressed over so many things lately, and I'm currently very worried about someone I love. I guess my mind decided it was time for a total, nonsensical kick in the ass.

Most mundane zombie nightmare I've ever had

We've walled off an entire neighborhood on the street of a friend's house. All of the other houses on that street were abandoned for various reasons, but the basic reason behind everything is a zombie outbreak. The only family of "original" residents which remained on that street is my friend's family. Several of us have moved into the walled-off area with them, and we've built a compound to protect ourselves. All of the houses are connected one way or another, except some at one end, which were in less stable shape than the other houses. We've dismantled them for parts, and are using the land for farming.

People have arrived recently, and I am sort of giving them a quick "orientation" tour with a rundown on how we are handling our new circumstances.

At the other end, our compound is divided by a high, chain-link fence that was there prior to the outbreak. We've altered it so that there is now a gate big enough to drive through when it is open.
On the other side if it is a what used to be a church and a parochial school. We included that property in our wall because we felt that the buildings may prove useful to us eventually, but at the moment the only thing we are using is the lot. In the lot, there are two buses. We plan to do something with them, but haven't started yet because we are working on other projects. However, we are using the lot space.

On one side of the lot, we have built a huge still, where we are brewing not beverages, but vehicle fuel. On the other side, we have a huge cistern which catches rain water. There are smaller cisterns around the compound, which also hold water, but this one is taller and more broad, and is attached to our makeshift water filtering and purification system. The final step currently uses a commercially sold reverse-osmosis filter, but members of our group are figuring out how to make our own so that when we run out of our supply of those, we'll still have a way to purify our water.

We have vehicles we would not normally have, as well. Parked on the street are a fire truck, an armored cash-delivery truck, and a semi with a tanker-trailer from a gas company, in addition to several cars. My husband and a few of the guys have been working on these to expand the range of fuels we can use to run them. Right now, the fire truck and and the armored truck can both run on just about any liquid that burns. We're working on the semi next. We plan to use it to take gas from neighborhood fueling stations until the alteration of our vehicles is finished, and we no longer have to use that for the cars.

The guys have set up the fire truck so that water can be pumped from a pooled source like a lake or stream, in through the hose to the tank, and then back out when we reach the cistern. The fuel we make in the still is used in the fire truck when we don't get enough rain, so that we can get water from other sources. We use it in the armored truck when we need to make a run for other supplies.

We've established a food and water supply sufficient to serve the complex if every house were populated. We've established food and water preservation methods to ensure a supply through the cold months, and to last us a few months if unforeseen issues arise. We have transportation and have located a few department stores, pharmacies, and hardware stores which, though not totally safe, we can safely enter and exit with tools and non-food supplies, and have "raided" them several times to get things we need.

We have built wind turbines on several houses to power refrigerators and freezers, and have stored a good supply of a refrigerant used in automotive air systems that one of the guys says he can use to restore the units as they go down. We don't plan on depending on those units forever, but we want to keep them going until we don't need them any more. Once we have non-refrigerated food preservation down better, we'll power those down and reserve our electricity for other uses. One of the new arrivals tells me she had a hobby of growing and preserving herbs for later use, and would like to help with that. I make a note. It would be great to be able to add our combined knowledge in that area.

In addition, we've created attachments for several houses to passively use solar heating, so that we don't have to use electricity for much heat. We have obtained a large supply of rolled plastic to help seal off windows and unused rooms in winter, as well. Since winter is coming, we're working on that project right now. I let the new people know that this is probably what they'll be helping with at first, until that project is completed, because it's vital to our winter survival.

Among our number is one chemist. I explain that she has a medical lab up and running and is working on establishing treatments for the most common life-threatening ailments. I don't tell them everything: She has established the manufacture of a couple of different antibiotic substances, a substance to use to treat flare-ups of asthma, two substances to aid in controlling blood sugar fluctuations, a substance that works like epinephrine in case of heart and breathing emergency (but we are told would hurt "pretty effin' bad" if used in a non-emergency), a substance to control blood pressure, two anti-histamines, and a still-in-the-testing phase narcotic pain killer. We don't want anyone but the core group to know about those yet, because of the possibility of abuse.

We have plans to set up an infirmary in a portion of the school, but have not started yet. Along with that, there are plans to set up a radio broadcast from inside the church steeple to try to connect with more people. A teen in the group kind of hesitantly tries to speak up, but keeps himself in check as if he's not permitted to speak. An adult next to him reminds him that he's not in school any more, and he is allowed to talk. He tells me he was in his school's broadcasting class, and that he learned how to set up the equipment. Broadcasting equipment is an interest of his, and he's built radio sets and CBs during the last few years. He can help set up our radio tower, get it up and running, and operate it.

He says he just needs us to let him know what we want him to do. I realize we could put this kid in charge of the project. As long as he knows what we intend to achieve, he has the capability to make it happen. We just need to make sure he has the confidence in himself to take charge, because it looks like he's still in the mindset that anyone older than him has authority over him. I resolve to discuss this with the people in our group who were school teachers prior to the outbreak, and tell the kid we're definitely going to need his help. We have people with sound system knowledge, but no one with broadcasting experience. His chest puffs out, and he seems about two inches taller than before.

Finally, I show them one house we have almost totally boarded up. It's not connected to the other houses at the ground level. Entry is possible from the ground, but it's designed to be sealed once people are inside. There is roof access from the roof of one neighboring house, also designed to be sealed from the inside. That is our safe house. In case of a breach of our complex by zombies, we've designed this as a protected area from which we can fight back. Inside are a host of projectile weapons and a supply of dried rations and water. We don't want to have to use the safe house, but we've set it up as a means of protecting ourselves and fighting off a horde or internal outbreak.

As I finish leading the group through the area, I tell them there are still enough empty houses that they can pick one instead of being assigned. I tell them which ones have more bedrooms, because there are a couple of families who seem to want to stay in the same house. I think they may all be related and have been traveling together through some harrowing experiences. They begin discussing possibilities. At that moment, we hear a commotion at the other end of the complex.

There is shouting, and I hear gunfire. We run that way, and several kids accompanied by three elderly women pass us heading toward the safe house. They tell me that a mass of zombies has attacked the outer wall, and they were told to go into the safe house. Residents are holding off the zombies pretty well, but as a precaution the children and those unable to run fast are sent ahead to prepare the safe house. That will mean setting up the weapons and preparing to seal off  the house. The teen asks which way I want him to go. I ask if he can fire a gun, and he says yes. I hand him one of mine. It's hard for me to send him that direction, but he's older than my son, and my son is fighting there right now. The teen gets it. He looks proud, but very serious and properly scared.

I break into a run toward the commotion. The group follows me, everyone yelling. I see where the wall is starting to split under the assault, and shout orders to my group. Three people split off into a house, where they can fire from upstairs, down over the wall and into the mass of zombies. Through the cracks, it looks like there are about 50 of them (enough to fill two elementary classrooms, basically) but they are pounding the crap out of our wall, so there could be more. I get find my husband and kids, and we form kind of a family wall. We're ready to shoot whatever comes through as two men work on shoring up the wall, and others work on firing over it. In my head, I'm praying hard that no one gets bitten.

There is a loud crack, and part of the wall splits open. Zombies come in, kind of single-file, but rather quickly, considering. They don't care if they tear their flesh on the wall. We start shooting. I hear guns going off around me. I can see through the wall that there maybe are more like 70 or 80 of them, but several are falling outside the wall, and I think we can handle this with what we've got. The fight is going to be just a bit more than a two zombie to one human ratio, and that ratio is getting tighter with every shot. I'm still scared, but not as badly as before the wall broke. Now, I'm more determined than anything.
I'm not letting these mindless, flesh-eating monsters tear apart my friends and family. I move forward and begin firing into the oncoming mass of decaying bodies.

Shake it up, baby

I'm at work, assigned to the register closest to the door. Everything is going as normal, checking people out and stocking cigarettes. There is a young looking woman at my register who wants to buy a carton of our store brand, but when I ask for ID as required by law for anyone who looks under 30, she gets mad. She yells at me and tells me she's an adult with the right to buy cigarettes just like any other adult.

I tell her I'm happy to sell her anything in the store, but the law says if I think she looks under 30, I'm not allowed to sell cigarettes to her without ID. It's out of my hands. I even sympathize, telling her how my sister-in-law, who is my age, still gets carded entering clubs and bars because she looks twelve, and how she can at least take some solace in the fact that she'll always be prettier than the other ladies her age because she has such an ageless face. She calms down and gets out her ID. She is actually 35 years old, but I would have pegged her at no older than 17. The ID is legit, scans properly and everything. In truth, I really envy this lady, because I had gray hair at 18, and could get into bars without ID at 17. I looked 30 from the time I was 12 through about the age of 35.

After the lady pays for her purchases and walks out the door (with a smile) and is therefore out of earshot, my boss starts crowing to the rest of my coworkers, alleging that I was flirting with and hitting on this young kid, barely old enough to buy cigarettes. Thus begins the argument of "I was not flirting" and "yes you were," followed by "she was not a kid; her ID said 35" and "it must have been fake" followed by "it scanned properly and had no signs of forgery."

There really is nowhere to go with this; I've actually been ordered by higher-ups at work to not document when my boss harasses me. I look at the clock to try to fix the time in my mind so I can write it down at home, angry that I can't deal with a female customer without my boss accusing me of flirting. Where does she think she gets off doing that? I don't flirt with anyone at work. Oddly, I can see that my boss is really getting annoyed by the discussion, too. She's not razzing me with allegations of flirting; she sounds offended. In the back of my mind, something goes off, and I feel like I'm getting snapped at for stepping on a dog's tail.

The other cashier does not pick up on my body language, and teases me about the lady. I say cut it out, and try to demonstrate in every way that I can that I'm not amused. My coworker doesn't get it, and asks why I didn't get a phone number. At this point, I'm nearly seeing red over this. I'm uncomfortable with the situation, unhappy with the insinuation, and concerned that someone will tell the lady about it the next time she comes in and I'll have to deal with that, too. I am really not interested in her, and don't want to have to clear that up with her.

I tell my coworker, "Seriously, cut it out. I'm done with this discussion." I get back to stocking cigarettes.

She replies, "Whatever. I don't care who you pick up at work. I just thought it was funny."

I reply by repeating my point, this time with a frown, a vehement tone of voice, and the stomp of my foot. Right as my foot hits the floor, stuff falls off of all of our shelves. Then, cigarettes fall out of the pack racks over our heads, less than a second after stuff falling from the shelves. I can hear things falling in the back room, too. My first thought is, what the heck? I didn't stomp that hard!

My boss comes out and yells my name. I turn to look at her. She has this incredulous and indignant look on her face. She says, "You'd better slow your..." but is interrupted as the whole room jerks sideways. All of us stumble, trying to keep our balance. I'm in the doorway between the registers and the office  I grab the doorway for support. My boss is holding on to the steel sink in the back room. The cook is right beside her. The refrigerator with wheels that don't lock any more rolls across the room and slams into the freezer.

At the register, the other cashier is thrown to the floor. On the other side of the counter, a customer entering the store falls into the building, landing on his face on the floor. All of this happens in a split second. Momentarily, there is no further shaking. I check that my coworker is ok, then run around the front counter to see that the customer's nose is bleeding. I grab a clean towel and get a handful of ice to wrap in it, run to the customer, and offer that for his nose. As he looks up, it is obvious that the nose is broken. The customer gingerly applies ice, while asking, "What the hell was that?"

I say, "I think it was an..." but am interrupted by further shaking. The floor lurches up and then sideways beneath us, then the whole room seems to just vibrate. The remaining merchandise falls off of the shelves. We can hear stuff falling inside the cooler and hitting the doors and the floor. The customer and I are on the floor, and we can't move. We hear someone scream in the back room, and I think maybe the refrigerator hit someone.

**************************************************

I am in the back room with my boss and the district manager. They are lecturing me about my "temper tantrum." I keep telling them that earthquakes are a natural phenomenon, and that there are news stories about the cause. They tell me that it doesn't matter what I say, the decision has all ready been made and I'm being held responsible. My boss tells me that they're going to have to document this, and I'm required to sign it, or I'll be let go. I read the write up, and it clearly says I caused an earthquake throughout the greater metro area because I was angry about being ribbed by my coworkers about my behavior.

I say, "First of all, I'm not signing this. It's bullshit, and it won't stand up in court. If you fire me for not signing this, I'll get unemployment."

My boss gives me that incredulous, offended look, complete with her patented taken-aback jump-and-gasp that she uses to try to make people believe their own thoughts and feelings (like the feeling of urgency after being denied a restroom trip until over an hour after stating the need to go) are not legitimate or valid.

I outwardly ignore that and continue, "Second, if you really believe that I have such great power over nature and the physical world that I can cause a 4.0 earthquake under your feet and around your entire city, do you really think getting fired from this job is going to phase me? Do you really want to piss off someone who you think can do that? I mean, one of two things is true here. Either you're sane and smart enough to realize that what you're accusing is impossible and this 'documentation' of yours is invalid and illegitimate, or you're crazy or dumb enough to believe I can make the earth shake, but still willing to do something upsetting at the risk of finding out what else I can do. Which is it?"

The district manager tells me that is enough of my "smart mouth" and orders me to sign the paper. I refuse, and am ordered out of the building. My boss dials a number on her phone as the DM is speaking to me, and just as he finishes the order, I hear her telling someone on the phone that she needs police to come and arrest me for causing the city-wide earthquake, and for threatening to cause another one. An officer who happens to be buying coffee at the register by the doorway to the back room hears her, and gets an amused look on his face until I tell him that she's serious, and that's a real phone call.

I hear her arguing with the person on the other end of the phone line that she has "documented proof" in the form of a record of the preceding conversation, then hedging with, "no, it's not a recording, we're writing it down."

I leave the room to go talk to the officer. I tell him my boss and the DM think I caused the recent earthquake. He asks if they know that the epicenter was west of the city to the south of us, and I tell him they don't care. They think I can control nature, cause disasters, and so on, and I'm being fired for having done so. The officer gives me a blank stare. Another customer says, "file for unemployment."

I realize I'm back in the same position I was in after my injury in July, and I'm going to have to fight that battle all over again.

I return to the back room, grab the paper away from my boss, and use the fax machine to copy it. My boss tries to take it away from me and I turn my back on her. I feel her pounding on my back, then hear the officer shouting, "Stand back. That is an assault!" My boss stops hitting me. I turn to see the officer cuffing her. She looks furious. I take the paper, fold it up, and put it into my pocket. She tells me I can't take it because it's company property. I tell her that since it's going in my personnel file, I'm entitled to a copy, and I'm taking it. I tell the officer I'll press assault charges, and he tells me I'm going to have paperwork to fill out. I am filled with a sense of dread at having to deal with this process, even though it's pretty certain to come out in my favor. I hate fighting!

The whole time, I had this Monty-python-esque sense of real unreality. I'm not dead yet. I'm getting better. (No you're not. You're not fooling anyone - get on the cart!) I felt like I was handling the situation the best it could be handled, but at the same time, I was really unsure how things were going to come out. 

I am tired of having dreams about work, and really tired about having earthquake dreams. I know my life is shaken up and I'm all stressed out, but enough all ready! I will be glad when school is out and we can move away from this area.

Managing to scare the crap out of me

I arrive at work at 9:50 A.M., ten minutes before my schedule says I am supposed to be there. It had originally said 11:00 A.M., but I received a call from the second shifter (on his cell phone, after work) telling me my boss had changed it late in the evening so that she could write me up the next day for being late. At home, I have written down what time she did it, because she was dumb enough to do it on camera. In the meantime, she doesn't expect me to be there yet.

I walk in, take a moment to purchase something to drink (which I always do because at the register, I'm talking almost nonstop with greetings, how-can-I-help-you, and the like) and then head into the backroom to clock in. My boss, having forgotten that she changed the schedule, yells at me for being early. I tell her that the schedule says 10:00 A.M., or rather 1D:00 A.M. after she changed it last night. She insists that I changed it, and I'm not supposed to be in yet. Two other employees are in the room, so she can't really go back on what she's saying. I point out that the spot where the schedule hangs is on camera, so corporate will be able to see who touched it and who did not. She glares at me.

I ask if she wants me to go home (just down the street) for an hour and return at 11:00. She says no, and actually says it's so I can't write to my rep at the labor board about the discussion. I point out that since it happened right when I walked in the door, I'm going to remember what time it was. I can just write to him when I get home.

She has me clock in at 9:59, and tells me that since I'm here for an extra hour, I can get some of the grunt work done. She sends me to clean the restrooms, with the admonition to knock first.

I grab the cleaning equipment and head that way. I walk directly from the office, out around the cash registers, and back to the restrooms. Our store is small, so the office and the restrooms share a wall and some plumbing. There is a big sink against that wall in the office. In the restrooms, the toilets are against that wall.

I decide to do the ladies' first because someone is in the men's. I prop the door open and work in the tiny room. I never let the door shut while I'm working in there because the chemical smell gets to me. The ladies' room is never too bad. The worst we usually see is someone not wrapping a sanitary napkin, but I've gotten good at using the end of the broom to scoop that into the trash without touching it. There is nothing like that in here this time.

As I'm finishing the ladies', I hear the occupant of the men's getting paper towels to dry his hands. The dispenser is really loud when you're on the other side of the wall from it - sounds like someone's trying to bang their way through. I bring the equipment out of the ladies' and wait in the hallway. The guy comes out, shuts the door, and walks out past me. Out of habit, I knock anyway. Of course, there is no answer.

I open the door to the men's room, but instead of the sink, toilet, and paper dispensers that should be there, there is a stone stairway going down into a dark hole. Smells of waste and musty dampness waft up from below. I feel a sense of trepidation. I don't want to go down there. I'm looking for a light switch in the doorway, but it's gone. I ask my co-worker for a flashlight, but she ignores me and makes light conversation with a customer instead. Everyone is giving me sideways glances, like some kind of a prank has been pulled and they're waiting for my reaction.


I decide to start down the stairs. As soon as I set foot on the first step, there is a loud roar.

 

I can't tell what it is. It goes right through me and down the hall to my left, then disappears in the sunlight from the windows. I jump back to get away from it. Everyone is looking at me now. Another co-worker tells me, "You shoulda knocked!" 

I reply, "I DID knock. That wasn't some guy in the restroom. Come and look at this!" I point into the cavernous stairwell, only to realize it's gone. There is no stone. There are no steps, no dark cavern below. There's just an ordinary restroom, with all of the expected facilities. It's a horrible mess. The last user has left waste on the floor, the seat, the back of the toilet, and the wall beside it. There is wet toilet paper everywhere, and something gooey-looking all over the sink and mirror. My coworker ignores me. 

I prop the door and grab a bucket of hot water and some paper. I put up a sign that says the men's is temporarily out of order. Thank goodness there's a drain in the middle of the floor!

I start using the bucket to rinse down the wall and the toilet, using the mop to keep the water flowing down that drain. I continue in this manner until the debris is gone, then glove up and scrub the offending areas, including the sink and mirror. I try to do this without looking at the reflection, because I still have a weird feeling about this room. I mean, I really have the heebie-jeebies. I know if I look, I'll see something bad, or something bad will happen.

Once I'm satisfied that the place is clean, I spray the whole room down with sanitizer, then pour some sanitizer-water down that drain to follow the waste and keep it from smelling. Finished, I turn to leave the room, only to see a hand move my doorstop. The door closes. I hear the light switch click, and suddenly there is no light.

I am not claustrophobic, but in the darkness in this room that has changed, I am terrified. Certain that there is something in here with me, I stumble toward the door. Instead of finding it, I hit something low with my foot, trip, and fall onto a set of stone steps going up. 

Oh, my God... I'm at the bottom of the stairs! I shriek and start climbing. I can hear something breathing behind me. Warm, dank air blows across the back of my head, and there is a horrible, low growling noise. Far away somewhere, I can hear someone yelling that the power is out, and the registers aren't working. Somehow, I know that it's happening because of the evil thing that is chasing me.

I scramble toward the top of the stairs, hoping that the exit is there. I can hear something moving behind me, and then there is that roar again. I feel something sharp hit my shoulder and slice down my back. At the same time, I see the door. It looks like always, a bland colored, enamel covered door with a metal handle. I grab the handle, turn it, and shove my way through. As soon as I am out, the lights come on and the restroom goes back to normal. Someone shouts that the registers are working again.

I walk through the store toward the back room. No one seems to have heard me scream, or at least no one is paying any attention to me now. They're all trying to rush through checkout and get on their way. In the back room, I start to put the equipment away, but am interrupted by my boss yelling at me. She's accusing me of having deliberately walked in on her, and says she's going to complain to corporate. 

I point out that since she was in the backroom when I headed for the restrooms, there was no way for her to go past me without my knowing, and, since she had just sent me in there, it was dishonest of her to say I walked in on her. She wasn't in there, and if she'd gone in there, she'd done so knowing she'd just told me to go in there. Not only that, but I'd knocked, and no one had answered. I remind her that the back room is on camera, the part of the store she'd have had to walk through is on camera, and the hallway is on camera. She tells me that the camera to the hallway has been taken out. 

She shows me a door in the wall between the restrooms, and tells me it goes to the men's. Momentarily ignoring the senselessness of that, I repeat that even if she went through that door, it still amounts to deliberately setting things up so I would walk in on her, and it would still be on camera. Also, jumping out at me like that was rude and unnecessary. I tell her that I should be the one complaining to corporate, because putting me in that position is a form of sexual harassment. As I turn to walk away from her, I hear the same growl I heard in the transformed restroom. I turn back, and she says, "You might want to check the back of your shirt. It's a bit torn."

I go to the ladies and turn my back to the mirror. I turn my head as far as I can to see four huge slices in my shirt. Beneath them, I can see that my back is bleeding. As I am looking, I can see that monster coming up beside me in the mirror. I turn to face it, but there's nothing. I hear banging in the men's room again, and the door to the ladies' starts to swing shut. I jump toward it.

I wake without finding out if I get out of the restroom.

After waking up, I laid in bed for several minutes wondering what the heck that dream was for. My boss hasn't been too grouchy the last few days since the district manager talked to her and then ordered me to stop documenting the harassment. I suspect that he ordered her to tone down the abuse. She did give me all of the heavy work yesterday, something she's been doing a lot since I reported the store to OSHA, but she hasn't changed my schedule without notice since that day.

Also, I'm really not that bothered by cleaning up messes in the men's room, and sadly, the mess in the dream wasn't some bizarre nightmare image. It's actually quite common for there to be a mess that bad after one of our male customers has been in there. Only the dungeon-like setting was abnormal. I have no idea where that came from. With the way I feel about work, I'd think I would be more likely to associate it with the back room, where the boss spends most of her time.

The claws are easier to explain. My back is still sore this morning from the heavy work my boss had me do yesterday. There really is no ergonomic way to lift full, heavy bags of trash out of 39 gallon cans. The few other female employees who sometimes (rarely) do the trash get help with this, but I do not. According to my boss, it's because I'm stronger than the other girls. When I point out the danger of injury, she "reminds" me that to apply for the job I had to say I could lift 70 pounds. I then have to remind her that when I applied, the app only said 50 pounds, and that the suction in the trash cans acts like more weight than the trash actually has. 

Since I'm not allowed to lay the can on its side (she calls that beating up the can) so that the bag will settle and air can get in around it, it feels like I'm pulling 100 pounds of dead weight out of that can. She has all ready told me that if I get injured "doing the trash" she's going to put in the paperwork that I've refused assistance with it, even though in reality I've been asking for assistance and she's refusing my requests. I feel like she's deliberately trying to injure my back so I'll have to file another Worker's comp claim, and she can say it's a habit or something. Either that, or she is using "crap duty" to retaliate against me for defending myself against the discrimination I've been facing on the job. I know she is not trying to get rid of me, because she is aware that I cannot just quit. In this economy, there is no place else to go.
I've concluded that the harassment is more of an attempt to dominate and control than to repel.

Yesterday, she did set me up like in the dream, but not with the restroom. She told me to work in the cooler, knowing that doing so required a jacket, then she yelled at me for taking the time to put one on before going in there because she wanted privacy in the back room for a phone call to corporate. I pointed out that I was in there because of her order, and that everyone wears a jacket in the cooler. She got mad and stormed out of the room.

I guess the stress is really just getting to me. This has to be one of the strangest work nightmares I've had yet. I guess now I'm dreaming that my boss is the boogie man.

First in a long time

I used to have this one when I was a kid, during the ages between when I broke my tailbone, and when I had experimental laser therapy to remove the scar tissue from where it healed. The therapy worked. Prior to the therapy, I used to have regular pain in the area similar to arthritis pain. It hasn't hurt like that since.

The significance is that when the pain went away, I went from frequently dreaming about this little guy to rarely seeing him at all. Last night, my shoulders got sore, and I got my first visit in about five years. Not having photos to combine to make what I saw in my dream, I drew a picture and enhanced it in G.I.M.P. This is just about the angle from which I saw the creature, which was chewing on my right shoulder (which hurt more than the left) and my neck.. It hissed at me. The startle factor woke me right up.

I used to "wake" with those teeth locked around the top of my butt, right where it was hurting. When I was still growing really fast in elementary school, and I used to get cramps in my calf muscles, I used to dream it was biting those, too. I'd wake up with my toes pointed down, unable to straighten my foot without using my hands.

I ended up having to get up and take aspirin. I usually don't take meds in the middle of the night because they're rough on the tummy, but my shoulder was really sore.

When I went back to sleep, I had this really insane dream about human waste oozing up out of the sewers all over the place, then eventually out of every pipeline in the area, including those for clean water. Finally, it started coming out of cracks in the ground, too. I was not where I live now. I was back in college, and at college age (still a teen) but not at the college where I went to school. We were in this big, flat, open rural area with no bigger towns nearby. I don't remember much of the dream except that I felt responsible for helping to clean it up because I hadn't been able to make people listen to me when I told them it was going to happen. I felt like if I'd been able to make people listen to me, they would have done things differently and avoided this. Despite my objections, my friends wanted to get me out of town, because they were sure I'd get blamed for the mess on the basis of my having predicted it.

I am pretty sure that the monster dream was a result of the pain in my shoulder, but the sewer dream is more likely a manifestation of stress, combined with certain realizations. I guess that figuratively, I'm seeing everything around me turn to crap; my work, my neighborhood, the circumstances with which pretty much everyone I know is dealing right now... and I did predict everything that is happening locally, but not as any kind of psychic.

This is all stuff I said would happen based on bills being passed by the state government between eight and four years ago, and the federal government during the last few years. Now, I'm almost afraid to join in when there's a political discussion, because everything I say sounds like "I told you so." On top of that, I'm worried that being right about the predictions that have come true, I may have also been right about some really scary possibilities. If I am, things here will go to hell at a frighteningly fast pace. It'll probably be that way in most cities, even the ones that aren't so big. I don't think smaller towns will be hit as hard because people there are used to having to work together to overcome hardships without the aid of highly organized, extensive networks of emergency services.

It's my extended family that wants me (and my household) out of here. Both sides want us to come live with them. We're actually working on just that - going north across the state to live in or near the same town as my in-laws, away from the city where we are now. It'll be months before it happens, though, and in the meantime, I do feel like I'm watching things fall apart. Who knows, maybe that is why I've had so many earthquake dreams lately, too.

War of the weirds

This one started in a setting that doesn't exist. There were things that I knew about myself but wasn't thinking of, in the same way that you know that you're living where you live in part because you paid the rent or mortgage on the most recent due date with money earned at the job that you do, none of which are you thinking about while you sit and eat breakfast in the morning. It doesn't mean you don't know it. It's just information you have, not information that's on your mind.


That is how I knew in this dream that I'd finished writing a novella, and published it online. I had expected somewhere between total failure, and moderate success that would boost my income by a few bucks a month. Instead, the novella went "viral." The main character was a retail worker who is abused by her boss, and an unexpected number of people identified with her. Fortunately, this had not impacted my family's privacy, as I had published under a pen name. The only link to myself was involved with getting paid, and the public couldn't see that. 

I made more money from the book than I would in a year at work (which isn't all that much, but it was enough). We used the bulk of the money to put a down payment on a house in the town where my husband's side of the family lives, and he began working nearby while I began writing a (much requested) sequel. These are things I knew, but was not pondering, when the dream began.

I am eating breakfast at the computer and typing a chapter from my finished outline. It is early for most people. My son is not up yet for school, but my husband is all ready at work.. I'm focusing this chapter on showing the effects of stress on the character's health, and I'm finding that my personal experience makes it both difficult and easy to write about this. I know all too well what the character is suffering, so it's like I have a script, but expressing it makes me think back to what I went through and brings back the emotional baggage from that experience. Even though I had some success in escaping the situation, I'm still angry that it happened. She had no right to do that to me. Worse, I feel guilty for leaving the others behind. I know her personality. Once I was gone, she would have turned her bullying to another employee and begun to do the same to that person.

I have to fight to keep focused on this story, in which the character did not write anything and has not escaped the situation. At the end of the first novella, she won a settlement from the company, but not enough to get out. She is still stuck with the abusive boss, still trying to hang on to her job so that she doesn't lose her home, and still dealing with harassment on one end, and her body falling apart at the other.

I'm preoccupied with this until it's time to get my son out of bed. I snuggle him awake, watch him rub the sleep out of his eyes, and herd him off to the bathroom. We go through the process of getting ready for school - I make breakfast while he gets dressed, and so on. We eat together and find something humorous to watch on TV. I'm a huge believer in a daily dose of humor. I am convinced that it has positive effects on one's physical health.

After that, we head to the car and I drive him to school, drop him off, and head out to run some errands. It's late morning when I return home with some groceries and some kitchen stuff. The mail has arrived. I grab it on my way in, toss it onto the table, then put everything away. I notice that there is a hand-addressed letter for me. Well, half hand-addressed. My address is hand written. The sender's address is typed.

It's from a lawyer's office.

I open the envelope. Inside is a notice that my former boss has read my novella and seen similarities between what I've written and what the letter calls "false allegations" brought against her in my claim with the labor board following my report to OSHA. My boss is claiming that she inspired the boss character in my novella, and feels that she is entitled to 75% of the profits. The letter is an offer to settle for 50%.


I'm momentarily angry. She has no right to do this. I didn't write about her. I wrote about me. The boss in the store isn't anything like her. The abuse is much more blatant and easy to report, not at all like what happened to me. The boss in the story I wrote is abusive because she can't feel important and valued unless she makes her subordinates feel unimportant and devalued. Her methods involve abuse in front of customers who end up complaining to corporate. She gets busted because her victim is able to amass a great deal of evidence. My boss was angry that I filed a complaint with OSHA. She saw that as a challenge to her authority, and her retaliation was a form of territorial marking, so to speak. The company was also involved in the retaliation, unlike in the story, and the case was still in appeals.

The physical characteristics don't match, either, with the exception that both characters are female. I wanted the boss in the story to look intimidating, so I made her tall and heavy. My boss was short and thin. I made the boss in the story an attractive blond. My boss was a brunette who would have been pretty if she hadn't had such a mean expression on her face, but she did, and she wasn't.

None of the incidents that happened to me were included in the story. I made up incidents for my characters, things that were much more cut-and-dried than my experience, so that I would not have to spend too much effort detailing the reasons why what the boss was doing was abuse. I wanted the incidents described to be things that the reader would look at and immediately mentally categorize as abuse.

After the initial moment of outrage, something else clicks with me. By sending me this notice, my boss is admitting that her behavior towards me at work was abusive. She is admitting guilt! Not only that, but continuing to pursue me after the fact is an act of further harassment. I can use this letter as evidence in my case against the company. A feeling of triumph rises in my chest, and I quickly begin thinking about the composition of a reply.

Instead, I call a local attorney for advice. I am told to come into the office, that he wants to handle the case. I am asked for the link to the novella I tell him which parts detail the abuse, and make an appointment with him for later in the day. I give him the link over the phone. I start supper in my crock pot, then head out to the office. I set an alarm on my phone to go pick up my son at school.

In the office, the attorney and I discuss the letter and the novella. We come to the conclusion that my boss is using her allegation as a means to continue attempting to dominate and intimidate me, and also as a cheap and easy way to get some extra cash. I wonder how she got my new address, and how she had connected me with the novella. I had not given my new address to the company, and had not left a forwarding address with the post office. I hadn't publicly associated myself with the novella or the site on which it was published. She would have had to either assume it was me or get that information from the entity which paid me, and she would have had to do some searching to track me down at my new address.

The lawyer wants to reply wit a letter stating that many people suffer abuse at work, and that many authors have written about abusive bosses. The letter would cite the disclaimer at the beginning of the novel, stating that the characters were fictional. It would also cite several popular movies from the last few decades of the 20th century some more recent ones, including the movie Horrible Bosses. We would point out that the novel was published under a pen name, with nothing to indicate to my boss that the author was me. She would have had to to come to that conclusion on her own. We would further state that my boss's allegation was unclear, and that we needed her to detail the abuses that she committed against me at my workplace in order to determine any similarities.

The lawyer says that our letter would put the boss in an uncomfortable position. Either she would have to state that there was no abuse, thereby totally undermining her case, or she would have to admit guilt, creating an opening by which I could sue her for stalking and further harassing me. He says that if she didn't drop this, we will connect this current harassment with the harassment in the workplace, and argue that she is using threat of legal action as a bridge to allow her to intimidate and harass an abuse victim who has moved out of her reach.

There ill be a legal battle in which I would probably just break even after expenses, but which should result in an order by a judge for my boss to stop harassing me. We would be able to keep my identity from being revealed to the public, so my family would continue to have normal privacy. At worst, I'd have to deal with this for a year. At best, the case would make the news and I'd get more readers out of it. If I don't fight, she might be able to actually win the right to part of my earnings from the novella, and I won't be allowed to write any more about the characters in it. My identity would be made public, and the novella would have to be taken down. I'd lose all future income from it.

I decide to fight. We work on composing the letter, and end up with one that we both really like. In it, we point out the things we'd discussed, along with the fact that in attacking my work, my boss is  attempting to abridge my right to free speech. That bit is a long shot, because the constitution only bars the government from blocking free speech, but since she is attempting to use the legal system as a tool in the attempt, we feel the point should be included. As we finish going over and approving the text, my alarm goes off. I tell the lawyer that I need to leave in the next ten minutes to get my son at school.

We finish our business quickly. He sends me off with a card and the assurance that he'll fight tooth and nail for my case. I feel pretty good about things as I walk out the door.

I arrive at the school a few minutes early, park my car, and wait for my son to come out. While I am  waiting, a man and a women in suits go into the school. Just before the last bell, they come out with my son. He looks really upset.

I get out of the car and run up to them, demanding to know what they are doing. They identify themselves as workers from Child Protective Services, and tell me that I have been accused of violent abuse. My son says, "I told you, whoever said that is lying. My mom's a good mom! She doesn't do anything bad to me. You guys are wrong!"

I ask where the allegation came from, and they say it is anonymous, and even if it wasn't they can't tell me without a court order. I point out that they cannot take my son without any a court order, either. They say if they can, and if I fight, it will "look bad" in my paperwork. I tell my son he doesn't have to go with them, and to get into the car. I say, "You guys are seriously not blind enough to miss the complete lack of injuries, are you?" The lady tells me that the anonymous caller had said that all of the injuries were internal. They are going to subject him to medical testing until they find something. When my son tries to walk away from them, each of them grabs one of his arms to hold him in place.

I tell them I'll press assault charges against both of them if they don't get their hands off of him right now. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial 911. A dispatcher answers immediately and asks what my emergency is. The man in the suit says, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." At the same time, my son yells "Help! I'm being kidnapped! Get these people away from me!" and begins struggling to pull out of their grasp. They struggle with him, and the man wrenches his arm behind his back. I can see pain on my son's face, and he yells, "Ow!" repeatedly.

With the hand not holding the phone, I slug the man in the nose. Blood shoots out and he screams. He lets go of my son's arm and puts his hands over his nose. My son shoves the woman off of him. I shout into the phone to the dispatcher that two people posing as CPS workers are trying to kidnap my son, that they have not shown us any identification or paperwork, that they are using force, and that we are trying to fight them off right now.

I shout at my son to run back into the school. He backes away from the woman, but lookes torn. He doesn't run. The man grabs at my phone with one bloody hand, and I kick him in the knee, hard. I hear a crunch, and he screams and goes down on his butt. The woman turns to see what is going on, and I again yell for my son to run. I hear the dispatcher tell me the police are coming, and to stay where I am. The woman pulls something out of her purse. I order my son to get inside, and he finally goes. I hear the doors lock behind him. Inside, I can see the secretary watching the scene with wide eyes. My son goes right to her desk, holds his hand out, and speaks. She gives him the phone, and he begins dialing.

The woman hits me, and I feel every muscle in my body tense up as if grabbed by invisible hands. I fall to the ground. I don't lose my grip on the phone, but I can't move. I can see sparks coming from her hand. She goes over and begins pounding on the locked door. Inside I see my son's panicked face as he speaks into the phone.

I tell the dispatcher that I've been tased by the woman while defending my son from the man. She asks if further assault is taking place, and I tell her about the woman pounding on the glass. She is trying to get into the school. The man has his phone out and is calling someone. I hear him say something about "refusing to surrender the child" and I tell that to the dispatcher. I state again that these people have shown me neither credentials nor paperwork, just grabbed and tried to take my son. I have no reason to trust them with my child. The dispatcher reassures me that until I am given those things, I do not have to surrender my son to strangers.

I put my phone on speaker so she can hear the rest of his phone call. He is asking if my resistance can be included in the case, and stating that his knee is broken. I tell the dispatcher how that happened, including how the man had reached to take away my phone. I state that I want to press assault charges against both of them for grabbing and trying to take my son.

Before the police arrive, my brother-in-law approaches. Looking inside, I see relief on my son's face and realize that's who he had called. I am beginning to regain control over my muscles, and I struggle to sit up. My BIL kneels down and helps me. I feel weak and wobbly, but can stay on my feet. Both of the people in suits give me surprised looks. I say, "I've been electrocuted before. That wasn't so bad." The woman turns away from the door and says, "Oh, really? We'll see about that." I see her flip a switch on her taser. It looks like she is turning up the juice. I tell my BIL, "Now is your chance. Go into the school. Take my son out another door, put him into your car, and take him to your house."

He starts to argue, and I tell him, "I can handle this. The police are on their way to help me. Just get him out of here." He nods, and goes inside the school as the woman, now angry, comes after me with the taser. I dodge her thrust and grab her arm. I lean back and pull, swinging her around, and then let go and send her stumbling away behind me. It is hard to regain my balance. My muscles still aren't obeying my brain very well. I feel kind of drunk, except without the buzz.

The woman falls and accidentally tases herself. The effect is that her hand clamps down on the button, and she keeps the taser on, and in contact with herself. I have to grab her arm and break the connection. I shake the taser out of her hand. It falls, hit the curb, and breaks. At the same time, I feel a jolt travel through me as I touch her. I fall to the sidewalk at the same time as the taser, and once again can't move. This time, I also can't hold on to my phone. Miraculously, it doesn't hang up or break. The dispatcher is asking what is going on. I tell her what happened. As I am speaking, I hear sirens. I say, "I think the cops are here." I see my BIL with my son in his car, parked several cars away in the driveway. He wis talking on his phone.

All at once, I am glad he is still there. It occurs to me that he couldn't just leave because a crime was in progress and he and my son are witnesses. Not only that, they're MY witnesses. They have to report to the police what they've seen, or it's me against two.

I know that somehow, this is connected to my boss. I make a mental note to call the lawyer handling the frivolous lawsuit and see if we can get either her phone records, or the phone records from CPS. I figure we'd be at least able to prove that a call was made either from her cell or house phone to the CPS hotline.

The sirens get really close, and I hear footsteps and chatter. The officers are surprised to approach a scene in which all the combatants are down, and no one is left standing. I shout at the phone that they are here, and need to know that I am the woman with the long hair, not the one in the suit. An officer approaches me and kneels down. I say, "I've been tased twice, but I'm ok. I just can't move. We're all a little injured."

The officer says that an ambulance is coming, and to just stay calm. I tell him that my son and I have been assaulted by the two people in suits, who have shown no identification or paperwork, but just tried to take him with them without offering any reason why. I say that they twisted my son's arm and tased me twice, and I want to press charges. The officer assures me that there will be paperwork for me to fill out related to charges, but first they need to see to everyone's physical well-being. I can hear another officer telling someone to stay still and not try to move, that help is coming.

I woke not feeling entirely comfortable with the situation. I wasn't sure what was going to happen. Were the officers going to arrest the kidnappers, or were they going to side with them because they were CPS agents? I know that they cannot legally take a child without either parental consent (which I didn't give) or a judge's order (which they didn't have) but I also know that the agency has a habit of getting away with breaking the law.

I also wondered why they were at the school, and what the actual allegation was that had them believing my son could have internal injuries with no outward sign. Why would they believe the accuser after the child vehemently denied the allegation and struggled to avoid being taken? In the few moments after I woke, my mind went over the scenario and decided that if the police sided with CPS, I would ask that my son go home with my BIL, an experienced foster parent, until the whole thing could be sorted out. Without paperwork, the caseworkers couldn't legally take my son, so they'd have to agree. In that situation, I also would pursue assault charges through the entire legal process, to a concluding ruling of guilty or not guilty. No one gets away with hitting my son, ever.

I feel like the cause of the dream, just as other recent nightmares, was stress. I've been dealing with so much harassment at work, and by such ridiculous means, that it is beginning to feel surreal. I recently got a reply back from the company. They told the labor board there can't be abuse because they have an anti-harassment policy. The fact that they're not following it seems to be irrelevant. They seem to think that they and my boss should get away with retaliating against me for filing an OSHA complaint because they've put into writing that harassment isn't allowed. That's kind of like a rapist saying he couldn't have forced himself on his victim because rape is illegal.

I think the last half of the dream is a representation of my knowledge of how this ordeal is affecting my son. He's old enough to be aware of what is happening, and he's demonstrably upset by it. He knows that we've had financial problems because of what my employer did, and that I'm stressed out because of my boss's behavior. Though I've tried to keep him out of the loop, I've been made aware that he knows I'm being abused at work. He's been very sweetly sympathetic, and done everything that a kid can do to make things easier on me. I am really proud of him for that, but I wish he didn't know what was going on, and I'm really angry that the impact of my boss's behavior has bled over into my home. 

Needless to say, a rebuttal is in order. Having to write it is stressing me out big time. That, and I'm still suffering harassment at my boss's hands. She has threatened me and everything.

I need this whole thing to be over, and I need to not have to deal with her any more. She has no business being in management. I feel like the police in the dream represented the legal system in real life. It feels like help is coming, but it's moving really slow. That is intensely frustrating, but there's nothing I can do about it.

In the meantime, I'm thinking maybe I should write about the problem. Maybe there are others who could identify with it, and even though it's unlikely that I actually would profit from a fictional account of my experiences, maybe writing about it would be therapeutic.

Have a nice plate of WTF for dinner

I am out with my husband and our friends. We don't go out much just as adults, because we all have kids, but tonight each of us is able because our kids are all with family or friends on overnight visits.

We're someplace that serves food and alcohol, and has music. I am not drinking alcohol, but I've had something to eat. There is a very laid back atmosphere here. Some groups are quieter, just talking and laughing, but others are louder and more noticeable.

We are in a spot that has a restaurant style table and chairs, but also has an easy chair, a love seat, and a coffee table. The restaurant table is low, and so are the chairs that go with it. That makes all of the seating the same height.

We've moved the tables together and are all sitting around them in one big group. We're talking about plans for things our families are going to do during the next few months, trying to coordinate a few dates so we can get together with the kids for something like a cook-out.

The girls all get up to visit the restroom. I am asked to go too. My friends and I don't usually do that. We consider ourselves "big girls" who can go to the restroom by ourselves. I figure there is something they want to talk about.

We go in, and there's no one else in there. One of my friends starts talking about a problem that is kind of embarrassing, that she feels the rest of us who are a little older and more experienced might be able to help with. Each of us relates an experience with that issue, and offers some advice. Our advice all sort of matches up. Even though it's not all the same, each of us says something that would work with what the others are offering.

After the discussion, three of us actually use the stalls. The one who doesn't heads back to the group. The other two finish before me and also head back. I hear more people come in. I come out of the stall, to see my boss from work and a few of her friends looking at me. I had not seen them in the building prior to the trip to the restroom, but they tell me they have been here the whole time, and have been watching for the opportunity to get me alone.

I try to leave the restroom, and the friend who is a police officer grabs me by the arm. I try to pull out of her grip and she moves with my motion, slamming me up against the door. She leans back then, and throws me halfway across the room. Immediately, someone else grabs my arms, pulls them behind my back, and turns me over onto my belly. I can smell pee and chemicals on the floor. I try not to let my face touch it, but someone shoves the back of my head so that my cheek is right on the drain.

I feel a foot slam into my ribs. I can hear my boss yelling obscenities, and then something hits me in the back. I start randomly kicking my feet in as many directions as I can, and find something solid but soft. The hands on my arms let go, and someone falls on my legs, then slides off between them. I turn at the waist to try to get up, but my ribs hurt really bad. At the same time, a fist slams into my face. I pull the leg up on the side where the ribs aren't hurt, and kick the woman on the floor behind me right in the face. It turns out to be the cop.

My boss stomps a foot at my hand, which is on the floor next to her. She misses and hits my wrist. She loses her balance, and I try to scramble away from her. Instead, she regains her balance and kicks me in the ribs again. At the same time, someone else kicks me in the back.

I back up against the divider between two stalls. Someone has a grip on my hair, and pulls me up. I swing wildly at the person, who is off to my left, but instead of hitting her, I end up hitting the door of a stall. My boss drives both of her fists into my gut like a boxer, and I double over and fall to my knees. She begins pounding on my back. Her friends are kicking and punching me too. There are at least four people beating on me. The pain is terrible.

I grab someone's ankle and pull, and hear someone go down with a thud. I scramble out that direction and head for the exit. The group tries to grab me and I kick at them. I open the exit door and crawl out where people can see me. No one is looking at the restroom.

My boss grabs my ankle and tries to drag me back in. I kick her in the jaw, and she falls backward, ripping the seam of my pants and taking my shoe. I see one of her teeth hit the floor. I crawl away from the door, yelling for help, but the music is too loud.

A few patrons finally do see me, but they don't do anything. They just keep eating. They have sympathetic looks on their faces, but I know that they are worried that if they get up, they'll lose their table to another group. I try to get the attention of my friends, but I'm too far away, and they're all talking to each other.

My boss and her friends come out of the restroom. They give me angry looks, but don't do anything because people can see. The patrons who noticed me get knowing looks on their faces, and one of them whispers to the patrons at the next table over. They look, and nod. Someone asks if I am ok. I say I probably need an ambulance. They all agree that yes, I should call an ambulance. No one gets up to help me, but I don't feel bad about it because I know that this is just the way things are handled at this place.

I can see the bartender watching. He is basically just making sure nothing happens out here where the patrons have to see it. He wants no drama in his place. He is also not calling anyone.

I crawl past the first two tables, to where my friends can see me. My boss is following me with a menacing look, but hanging back so that it's not obvious. I try to yell for my friends, but my chest is so sore that I can't get a deep breath. Finally, one of the guys sees me. He nudges my husband, and they get up and run to where I am. The two of them pick me up and carry me over to the love seat, where the group asks me what happened.

I tell the whole thing, explaining that the only people in the restroom were my boss and her friends, but I couldn't see which of them was hitting me at any given time except for a few of the blows dealt by my boss. My friends decide that we need to call the police.

When the police arrive, they take a statement from me, and tell me they're going to help, but then they head over to the bar and start drinking instead. Seeing their uninvolvement, my boss casually walks over to the group and starts spitting on me. When my friends try to block her, she spits over and around them. A couple of friends throw things at her, both of which hit her in the face and make a mess on her shirt. She takes a moment to grab napkins and try to clean herself, and my friends try to get me out of the building.

The door to the building is locked, and we can't get out. My ribs and back are hurting really badly, and standing makes them worse, so my husband picks me up to carry me. I wrap my arms around him and try to hold on, but using those muscles is really painful. He tells me he's got me. At the same time, my boss comes around the side, grabs my arm, and gives it a good yank. I feel myself almost fall. Another of my friends turns around and punches her in the face, and she backs off for a moment.

Her friends aren't helping, but they're watching. I can see them over by the restroom. She yells for them, and they start to come over. My friends yell to the police, "Why aren't you doing anything?" The police, who have turned toward us and have been watching, write a few things down in a notebook, and then just sit there. I realize they're documenting everything that is happening, and tell my friends to not hit back. Instead, when my boss reaches for me again, I yell at her to stop and smack her hand away. She looks offended and indignant, and reaches again, as if to slap me in the face. I again slap her hand out of the way. The bartender yells my name and says no fighting. I see the cops write that down. 

I hear an ambulance arrive outside, and realize that one of my friends has called for medical help. I tell everyone, "when the EMS opens the door to come in, we need to go out and shut it. That way, she'll be locked in here, and we can escape."

The door opens, and I see people in scrubs. They burst into the building with a gurney, pushing past us. My husband puts me on the gurney. One friend tells one of the EMTs that she thinks my ribs are broken on the left side. Another is describing the assault to another EMT. While the door is still open and everyone is distracted, another friend of mine shoves my boss outside and slams it in her face. I can hear her pounding to get back in, but the friend is leaning on it. At that moment, the cops get up and arrest the bartender. They ignore my boss's friends.

One of the EMTs begins taking my vital signs. A cuff is wrapped around my arm to get my blood pressure, and a thermometer is placed in my mouth. I see the door start to open, despite my friend's efforts, and my boss tries to come back inside. When that happens, one of the cops breaks away from the arrest of the bartender, runs over to the door, and slaps handcuffs on my boss. He steps outside with her, and I can hear him reading her rights. She is yelling back at him that it's my fault for being there, not knowing my place, and expecting to not get kicked around.

I hear one of the EMTs tell my husband, "Your wife's blood pressure is really high." I think, that can't be right. I have abnormally low blood pressure. It's always been that way. I turn to say so to the EMT, when I feel something jab me in the ribs.

This is when I woke. The jab hurt so bad that it jolted me out of the dream.
Oddly, I am in a severe amount of pain this morning. My ribs really do hurt like they're broken on the left side, where I was kicked in the dream. My back is killing me. It feels like if I could just pop it, it would feel better, but twisting and stretching (or even taking a deep breath in, or breathing out too far) hurt my ribs, right under my left breast. I've been a little sore for a few days after having slept wrong, but not like this. I really do feel like someone beat the crap out of me.

I know the dream was stress related, but I suspect that the pain existed prior to it and the stress manifested itself by creating that story in response.

I recognized the people in the dream. My friends were my real friends. My husband was himself, too. So was my boss. Her friends, though, were actually people who are with our company, most of whom have been in our store. One is a former manager. Two others are former district managers, only in the dream they were women, but in waking life they are men. The voice of the friend who is a cop was the voice of the human resources manager. I've never seen her, but I'm really familiar with that voice. My boss really does have a friend who is a cop, but she was not involved in the dream. The bartender was the current district manager. 

The police in the dream weren't the local police, either. I know those guys. They come into the store all the time and get coffee and snacks (not donuts quite so often as you might think, but a LOT of coffee.) In the dream, the officer who initiated the arrest of the district manager, then broke off to arrest my boss, is the case worker handling my unsafe working conditions complaint to OSHA, and the retaliation complaint I had to file after my employer kept me off of the schedule for a couple of months following the inspection. 

The company has been notified of the complaint, and my boss has been further retaliating by creating a hostile work environment. She has threatened me and is trying to push me out of my job. It's not a fabulous job, and if the job market were better, I'd just quit and go work somewhere else. However, I'm in an area with crazy high unemployment. I've been looking for a job for nearly three years, with no success. I have to have the paycheck, so I can't afford to leave or be fired, and my boss knows that.

Two days ago, the district manager let me know that the harassment would be condoned by the company, and I was "not permitted" to document and report it. I've let my case worker know what he said, and am waiting to find out what to do next. I may end up having to file yet another complaint. In the meantime, the harassment continues. I'm continuing to document and report, but trying to keep my boss from seeing me do it. This situation is really getting to me.

I dozed off again after that, but couldn't stay asleep. I kept having the feeling that something was in the room with me, as happens with Sleep Paralysis. When I started to dream again, it was a repeat of the one with something trying to drag me off of the bed and into the closet. I ended up dragging myself out of bed and downstairs for coffee. 

I am so tired!