The Time I Left a Bunch of Hypodermic Needles on Amtrak

This afternoon I dreamt that I lived on the East Coast and habitually rode Amtrak. I got to know this Italian family with a little baby and an older man with good stories. I also had these plastic boxes of hypodermic needles that I used for migraine medication and to counteract the effects of my bug bites. Since I traveled in the same car all the time, I started leaving all the hypodermic needles in my compartment, which was spartan, white, and cold, with gray benches.

Then suddenly my parents appeared and said I needed to get off at the next stop. I was still getting my bags together when the train stopped, so each of them grabbed a suitcase and exited the train. Leaving all of my hypodermic needles, I took one suitcase and followed them, but I was too slow and soon the train jerked and I fell down in the doorway and saw my parents rapidly retreating as the train sped down the Columbia (because we'd switched coasts for no reason).


I felt like I was going to be flung out the open doorway and under the train. It was very scary. Finally, I crawled back into the train to get my hypodermic needles. This young New Yorker Kirstie Alley character was in my compartment and offered to help me get my stuff off the train. She started packing my stuff up, and then the train stopped again but I wasn't ready. I pulled the yellow cord to tell the conductor I had to get off. At the next stop, the conductor actually came down and started yelling at me for not getting off the train fast enough. The New Yorker tried to soothe him because he was her boyfriend.

I jumped off without the needles, and then I woke up.

The Time My Roommate and I Were Eaten Alive

This one is ongoing. We have pulled up the couch cushions, inspected the mattresses, washed the sheets in hot water, vacuumed the house, and in all other ways obsessively searched for the fleas, bedbugs, or other disgusting crawling things that must be doing this to us. We found nothing. Nothing but itchy red bumps on our stomachs, arms, and legs that are multiplying. I even took my temperature to see if we have some sort of infection, but it was 96.5° at four in the afternoon, which is a problem in itself.

The Time I Was Vampire Santa's Little Helper

Last night I dreamt that I worked in this large Christmas-themed store. It was pretty upscale—there were real fir garlands and twinkling lights and big wired gold ribbon everywhere. Then the room lights started flickering, and everyone screamed and ran to the center of the store, where the entrance to the basement was. Some scary vampire in black robes rose out of the basement and said, "You will die!" pointing at some of my friends. Three of my girl friends and I locked arms for safety and said, "Don't let go! What ever happens, don't let go!" Then the lights went out for a long time and there was screaming and one by one my friends were torn away from me.

A voice whispered in my ear, "We left you alive because you can become one of us!" and then the lights came back on. My three friends were dead, and I was covered in their blood. This guy gave me a hug and said everything would be all right, but I was still afraid that the vampires would come for me. Something happened with a bus, and then I woke up.

Analysis: I'm stressed about school, so my brain thought up another annual situation that always stresses me out: Christmas.

The Time I Almost Got Detention

  This morning I dreamt that my family went to someone's middle school graduation (maybe my sister's?), and I wore my newish H&M business-like skirt and my green top. My parents were distracted because they had signed up to feed the missionaries that evening and felt bad that they just took some food over. My parents also kept talking about this spicy peach pie that they'd bought at Marie Callender's the night before. Anyway, my parents and brother went to find some seats on the bleachers, and I went to find the bathroom.
  I was doing my business in the flimsy middle-school stall when I heard someone come in. I could see enough under and around the stall door to realize that it was a male janitor. Feeling uncomfortable, I finished really quickly, tugged down my skirt, and rushed out of the bathroom. (I didn't wash my hands, but I guess they don't have germs in Dreamland.)
  "Hey!" a woman barked. I turned around to find a prototypical female gym teacher coming out from the glass-windowed resource officer's office, which was right by the bathroom. The male resource officer peeking out from behind her was kind of cute—which made what happened next even more embarrassing. "You can't wear a skirt above the knee! It's against the dress code!" the gym teacher hollered.
  I looked down at my skirt. It was a little twisted and bulgy because I'd come out of the bathroom so quickly. I smoothed it down. "This skirt is knee length," I told her.
  "What about that wrap part?" she continued, pointing to the pretty cascade of fabric on the side of my skirt, "Will that come open when you walk?"
  "It's not a wrap skirt, see?" I said, lifting up the cascading fabric part of the skirt to reveal the regular skirt underneath. Unfortunately, the regular skirt part had gotten all bunched up in the bathroom, so I actually showed her (and the resource officer behind her) a lot of leg and a bit of my underwear. My face became hot. "Let me go back in the bathroom and fix that," I said. I ducked back through the bathroom opening before she could respond. There, I found a stall and tried to ignore the presence of the janitor while adjusting my skirt so everything was where it should be.
  When I came out, I showed the gym teacher that everything was okay with skirt. She shook her head, "I don't know. Maybe you should just put on your gym sweats."
  "Um," I answered.
  "Do your parents have any more of your dresses in the car?"
  I thought about it. My long, long-sleeved, white temple dress was in the car because my family had either just been to the temple or were planning to go soon. "Um, well I guess they do," I said.
  The gym teacher looked a little bored. "Wait, take off your shoes and stand there."
  Face burning some more, I did as she asked, removing my heels to stand in my nice new nylons on the filthy green-painted concrete floor.
  "Oh, that's it!" the gym teacher exclaimed. "Your short legs are just throwing off my sense of proportion. Just to be safe though, next time you should wear a longer skirt. I almost gave you a referral."
  "You do know I don't go to this school, right?" I replied. I wanted to say "You do know I'm twenty-three years old?" but that seemed rude.
  Her shoulders fell. "Well, that changes everything. See you later!" She ducked back in the resource officer's booth, and I realized I really should have announced my age because (a) it might make her actually apologize and (b) the resource officer really was very cute.
  Just to spite her, I changed into my old silk Nicole Miller dress ($85 on Bluefly!), which is too revealing for me to wear anymore. My underwear was showing! Then I found my dad and shouted (because that resource officer was now moving around the crowd nearby), "Can you believe it! I almost got detention, and I'm twenty-three years old!" People stared at me. The resource officer really stared at me, clearly repulsed.


  My mom leaned over and said that she'd left the missionaries a note hinting at having them over around Christmas for the sole purpose of having a reason to buy more of that spicy peach pie. Did I think it was a good idea? And then I woke up.

The Time I Personally Witnessed the Downfall of American Civilization

Today at the mall I saw a teenage girl—between fourteen and sixteen—out with her friends and wearing a t-shirt that said, "Pregnant Is the New Skinny". She was not wearing it ironically.

Baby bumps as fashion statements. We're ripe for the Apocalypse.