Well, I've certainly neglected the dream journal, haven't I? Way back in October, I had a dream that really freaked me out. I wanted to write about it, but I needed to take a few days to get over it first. By the time that happened, I had had other dreams, and other things happened and I never got around to writing it.

I killed someone.

I don't remember much of the details now, but I was trapped in some sort of cabin. It's like on TV when there's an avalanche and the characters get trapped inside. I was the only female. After being there for awhile, the cabin fever kicked in. I found something long and pyramid shaped. It wasn't an ice pick, or a fire poker, or a letter opener, but it was something pointy and metallic. I killed all the males except two, Greg and KC from Hookerblood. The rest were jocks. I would grab their right shoulder with my left hand, and thrust with my right as hard as I could. The spike went up on an angle so that it went in under the ribs and right through the heart. I don't know how many guys there were, but I got them all. KC, Greg, and I were all able to relax and find a way out, now that we didn't have those dumb jocks and their dumb ideas.

What freaked me out so much about that dream is that I could actually feel the murders. I could feel my rage, I could feel the force I was thrusting with, I could see and hear the blood gurgling out of their mouths, and I could feel my relief when I was done. It was one of those dreams that just seemed "so real." I convinced myself it was self defense.

Then, a couple of days later, I dreamt that I kicked the shit out of someone. I can't fight. But I did in my dream. I was at the Marquee. Some girl was picking on me. She kept circling me, saying things. I ignored it as long as I could, but finally, I snapped. I grabbed her, much like I grabbed those jocks, and punched her again and again and again. I kept punching her until someone (I think it took a couple of people) finally pulled me off of her. I think I almost killed her.

The theme in both of those dreams seems to be bullying. In both cases, I felt much like I did as a child. Like in Grade 7 when I smacked a guy across the face with my french-english dictionary. He got a nose bleed, but wouldn't tell the teacher because he didn't want the class to know a girl had hurt him. He just politely asked for permission to go to the bathroom. The funny thing about that situation is that he was picking on me in that way that boys will when they have a crush, but being picked on most of my life (and thinking he was gross, not crush material), I lost it.