I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy

Last night I slept straight through the night, and woke up feeling as if I had never encountered sleep. I was plagued by an unending nightmare; every time I woke up, I would drift back to sleep, only to find my dream picking up right where it left off.

There is the chance it could have been a stress nightmare, as my stress nightmares usually include the type of arguments which ensued within this one. But the other content makes me question whether it came out of a deeper fear that I perhaps have been burying within my subconscience, not totally aware of its existence.

It started like pretty much every other dream. I was working my shift at the Coffee House, serving customers and busying myself away with work. Only, it wasn't the Coffee House, it was A&W. Now, while I was haunted with A&W dreams for a year or two after I worked there, it's now been six years. There's no logical reason I should be harrassed by burger-joints in my dream-time.

If that wasn't strange enough, the Coffee House/A&W was owned by my grandparents. At first, thought that was pretty cool. But then, things went horribly wrong. My grandfather not only accused me of stealing food, but decided I put far too much sour cream in the mashed potatoes. Now don't ask me why that was such a big deal, but in my dream it was a big enough deal that not only did he send me home early, but he made sure that I knew I was a disgrace, and a horrible thief, and all sorts of aweful things. And when I tried to prove to Him the reciepts that I always paid for my food, he threatened to call the cops if I didn't leave immediately.

So I left in tears, shaking and having an anxiety attack, and went home only to find out that not only had Grandpa called and told mom and dad what was happening, but that he was also thinking about firing me.

I explained what happened to them, or at least attempted to, and ended up fighting with them for hours about the whole thing, until mom found all the receipts in my purse and told dad I was right.

They apologized, and things were great, until Grandpa game over. Then another fight broke out, with cries that I had made fake receipts and how horrible I was. I couldn't take it anymore and decided to leave. While mom tried to calm down Grandpa, dad went to work off his frustrations at the gym, and I packed two bags, snuck out of the house, and left.

In this dream, our house was out in the country, and I took the long road, for whatever reason back to my old highschool. Just as I encountered some friends, tornadoes began to strike left right and centre, tearing the place apart. I scrambled for cover over somewhere and watched in horror as people were whisked away by the wind, crushed by fallen debree, or killed by metal rafters crashing through them. There was nothing I could do to help. I took the heads between your knees position they teach you during tornado drills in public school and just cried. I guess my parents started texting me frantically because in the midst of all this, I pulled out my crackberry to see a bunch of missed calls, and texts begging me to come home, apologizing for what had happened, and pleading that I could at least text them to let them know I was okay. But the signal died as another twister took out the cell phone tower, and I just started crying and praying, praying that I could stay alive long enough to get home, and that if our family was meant to parish that day, it would only be after I had returned. I claimed it in the Lord and pushed myself upright, attempting to ignore the damage around me.

Although the devestation from the earlier events was still wracking my entire body, I set forward with new determiniation. I walked the backroads, diving into ditches to take cover from incessant twisters, and began praying in the name of the Lord that the ones about to descend upon me had no right to take me. When I prayed that, the twister would either dissipate, or switch direction.

Did this ten, maybe thirteen times before I made it to our road. The homes surrounding the area were destroyed. Some had exploded from the inside due to the air pressure, others were nothing more than rubble. But still standing firm, just as I had prayed was our house. I began to rush towards it, but was cut off by a twister, that transformed into a flaming cat. It laughed at me, and took off directly towards the house.

I froze, stuck my hand out, and shouted 'In the name of the Lord God, you have no right to that home. In Jesus name, get back!' And it froze. It didn't disappear or change direction, but it did freeze in place. I ran past it, got to the house just as another huge twister cane our way. I threw ny arms around my parents, starte to sob, and then I woke up.

When I woke up I was covered in a cold sweat, and was shaking uncontrollably. I managed to roll myself over, mutter something about nightmares, and fell back asleep.

The dream that followed was definitely the same one, accept there were no more tornadoes, or even the recollection of the tornadoes. Things were still tense between Grandpa and I, and he had threatened my job again, because I couldn't find the shirt he wanted me to wear to church because he wanted pictures.

From there, many more fights ensued, and I had no idea whether I even had a job to show up to. When I finally woke up again, I was actually confused as to whether or not I really had been fired from my job. I felt as if I were recovering from an anxiety attack, and wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry.

So there you have my strange dream. Even stranger-- I've never so much as heard my grandpa get angry, let alone yell.

Weird, weird upsetting nightmares. *sigh*