A big storm hit and the electricity went out all over town. After reading a bit, I felt tired, so elected to take a nap under the niave assumption that once I awoke, the power would be back on.
In the dream, I’m in the hallway of some upper floor of the apartment complex I live in, though it is far grander and fancier than my actual apartment complex. It even has elevators. People are driving small vehicles down the hallway and out the elevator doors at top speed directly into the walls, intentionally killing themselves. I remember taking cover behind a wall as one slammed into it.
Later, on a lower level, I’m with my parents and some guy who seems to be both their friend and bodyguard (who is clearly based off a character played by Jay O. Sanders on a show I’ve recently been watching called Sneaky Pete). They seem to be babysitting or adopting two kids, a girl and a boy. Though I know this, I never see the girl in the dream. I do recall the other kid, however, who is a skinny black boy, probably in his teens, who immediately tries to run away. He tries to jump out of the kitchen and into the hallway through the interior window and has a hell of a time with it. I go grab a hold of him in the hallway and as he tries to escape my grip in a panic, I casually point to the cased opening, nonverbally indicating that his overly-dramatic escape attempt could have been done in a much easier way, and he calms down and just laughs.
Later, on the bottom floor, my mother and the bodyguard were going somewhere and I was supposed to go along, but they walked out the door without me, which made me happy, as I didn’t want to go anyway. Then the bodyguard comes up to the door’s window, stares at me, and holds up his hand, where he’s holding a sheet of pills, and though he says nothing, I know he wants to know whether I’ve seen anything like them around here. I had, in fact — the black kid had them.
I walk outside and ask them to just leave the kid alone. As I look down, I realize I have two phones, so go back inside to ask the kid if the other one is his. When I go in he’s already walking up to me, and as I’m holding out the phone and asking him if it’s his he aggressively grabs it and turns to angrily walk away. I grab his arm and tell him to knock it off, that I’m on his side. Much like when I spoke with him earlier, he suddenly relaxes, meets my eyes and sort of smiles at me while kind of laughing at himself.
When I go back outside, I begin walking with them and ask my mother why she doesn’t just leave the kid alone. He’s taking pills, but it’s his body, his business, and just because I wouldn’t do that doesn’t mean I should force my opinion on him. Even if we take them away, he’ll get more elsewhere.
As I’m saying all this, however — or at least trying to say it — my mother keeps talking over me, not stopping fir a second, not listening in the least, forcing me to talk louder and louder in the vain hope of getting a word in edgewise. I finally scream at her to just let me speak, to just shut up a moment, but she doesn’t pause or slow down. I want to hit her, the urge is overwhelming, but I just put my hand on her cheek, asking, almost begging her to shut up and let me talk, trying not to let my building rage overpower me so I go ballistic. I get so unbelievably enraged at her that I wake myself up.
I’ve had a few dreams as of late where the anxiety or anger has been so intense at the end that I awaken myself out of it with a jolt. I thought the common factor was CBD, but I’ve been largely abstaining from both that and weed as of late. I’m curious what’s really behind it.
Chronicles of a Madman. 