Analyze this, dream doctor!

Last night, I had a disturbing dream.
It was one of those long, drawn-out dreams that, even if you wake up briefly - like say to hit snooze three times and crawl closed-eyed back into bed - you fall right back into.

It involved my father and brother Michael who were vampires trying to kill me.
Not make me a vampire, which of course would have been super cool, but actually kill me.
{Blogger's note: This might not be too far from reality when, as children, my brother tried to kill me on at least seven different occasions. One is well documented in a photo my mother took of us because she thought it was "cute" that Michael was holding a shut-off chainsaw to my belly and had a maniacal smile on his face. Said photo is displayed prominently on his entertainment center - and is the only photo of us that is in such a prominent place. He - and our parents - adamantly deny the Seven Times He Tried To Kill Me. I wonder if this could count as number eight??}

Through the whole dream, myself and a girl who resembled Taylor Swift, who was a cashier in a grocery store that helped me find its soap display - apparently my OCD even makes me dream about Ivory soap - and I gave chase to my Papa and Michael.

The weirdest thing isn't that the chase spanned all four seasons.
It was the fact that as we chased them, we were doing it in RC cars and tanks because we were miniature-sized people.

Toward the end of the dream, Taylor twin and I went to the house next door to the house my brother lived in when he lived in Pa. seven years ago (got that?) and Papa killed the Taylor girl because she went in first, and Michael came out to talk to me, teeth bared naturally.

He was like "This has to happen. You can't keep hunting us. You tried to kill our leader in the grocery store with your soap hunt."

I was crying and trying to get away from him, but he had me cornered in the garage attic we used to play in - one that was ironically bat infested.

The reason I was crying and pleading with Michael?
Not because he was going to kill me, but because he wouldn't make me a vampire, something I'd so enjoy, what with my already fang-like canine teeth, penchant for black and insomnia.
What a jerk!

Finally sleep, or I was so out I had a terrible dream about my hair. Or lack thereof.

Last night, it was lights out promptly at 10 p.m.
Actually got under the covers at 9:30 to curl up with "On the Road with Bob Dylan" by Larry "Ratso" Sloman.
Took a sleep aid at quarter to 10, and that was it.

Nine hours later, I was jostled awake by my alarm, which very rarely happens.
It was glorious.
Sometimes my body just needs to shut itself down during one of these insomniac cycles, and I totally live for those nights.
Especially considering that, if I can remember them, I have some pretty far-out dreams.

I fully know that one of the worst stories someone could tell another person (aside from a detailed birth or something) is a dream. Unless it directly involves someone, who the F cares, right?

Having said that, it isn't stopping me from sharing my dream:

I was standing on the sidelines of a football game in Alabama, I think, with a friend. It was so bloody hot. I had my hair up in a ponytail and decided to give myself a trim during a break in play. Took the scissors and SNIP!

I tried to clip my hair back on to be "fashionable," but it wouldn't work so I asked my friend to help and he was staring at me, aghast.

"I think you need to look in the mirror," he said and pointed to this huge gold-gilded mirror that just happened to be hanging from the punter's practice net.

I kept running my fingers through my hair, which suddenly felt like a buzz cut hairdo - which is exactly what I somehow had done to myself.

I was horrified and began running around frantic, because seriously, we all know damn well that a women's hair is her crowning glory, or whatever way the saying goes.

So I run across the field in search of my mother, who is the only person who can make it right, but I have no idea where she is in this Alabama town, I just have to follow instinct.

BEEEEP - just a I was about to have a heart attack in the middle of a brick-housed neighborhood, my alarm goes off and damned if I don't run straight to the bathroom to check my hair.

It was all accounted for, thank God.
But I sure as hell kept checking on it all day today.
And was very wary of anyone using scissors in my vicinity.

Creature of the night.

I am about six days into a horrid bout of insomnia.
This is the worst I think I've ever been.

Last night, like most nights, those red digits were my worst enemy.
I slept for maybe half an hour.

Never mind that that half hour included a dream that was sexual in nature with - and I feel ashamed to even relay this - the Dalai Lama, who for some reason was in a glass case.
It also involved one Katie Holmes.
(The insomnia must be eating my brain one cell at a time.)

I am sitting here without a thought in my head - like I've got nothing left, especially after the crazy high-pressure day at work today. Probably because I don't.

And to top it off, I am mad craving coffee ice cream for the second day in a row, a flavor I'm not particularly fond of.


What - and who - the hell am I turning into?