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    lucyoncolorado

    1. Ninety-Two

      by , 12-12-2014 at 04:00 PM
      Long time, no post. I've had lots of interesting dreams, but I've just been too busy to write them down. This one last night is just too disgusting to not record!

      In which I poop on a classroom floor and blame it on a student...

      I've arrived to a school to work as an aide in a special education classroom. I'm early. The work day does not begin until 7:30, and I'm there at 7:00. I enter the classroom, but I leave the lights out so that no coworkers will know I'm here. I figure I will get more work done this way since no one will stop by to chat. I'm carrying my thermos of coffee, but before I drink any, I realize I need to have a bowel movement.

      As if it is the most normal thing in the world, a toilet sits in the middle of the classroom. There are no walls or curtains or stalls enclosing it. There is just a toilet, sitting in the middle of the room, out in the open. This is perfectly natural in my dream.

      I sit down on the toilet to pass a BM when I remember that of course this toilet is made for small children and therefore cannot hold my large adult-sized shit. This logic also is perfectly natural in the dream. Therefore, I reach behind my rear and grab the shit with my hands. I then throw it on the floor in front of me with every intention of cleaning it up shortly after finishing.

      At that moment, my husband walks into the classroom. I'm surprised. What is he doing here?

      He explains that he is there to check up on me and to make sure I'm OK. This makes me angry. Why should he check up on me? He sees the poop on the floor and asks why I've done such a disgusting thing as throw it there in the middle of a classroom.

      Suddenly, the perfectly natural dream logic fades. Why have I just thrown my own feces into the middle of a classroom? I have no idea. It seems disgusting and humiliating. My husband is shocked. I'm mortified. I can't explain it. It seems insane.

      I yell at him that he needs to leave so that I can clean up my mess before anyone else arrives to see it. He is shocked and upset that I've done something so disgusting. He keeps asking me over and over again what is wrong with me.

      Then there is an announcement that I need to be in the office to escort a special needs student to the classroom. The child cannot walk unassisted, and I go to help him at once.

      By the time I return to the classroom with the child, another teacher and several other special needs students are all in the room. The other teacher has discovered my pile of poop, but it does not occur to her that I'm the one who threw it there. She assumes that one of the special ed students has pooped in the middle of the room rather than the toilet. Several of our students are in diapers or cannot use the bathroom unassisted.

      The other teacher is very angry. She's yelling at the students and blaming them for doing this. I start to feel really guilty. The students are mostly non-verbal and cannot defend themselves. I know that I will get away with it, and I know that it is horribly unjust to let a student take the blame for something insane and disgusting that I have done. But what else can I do? If I admit it, I will loose my job and be humiliated in front of all my coworkers. These students mostly do not have the awareness to feel humiliation, and they do frequently have bowel movements in places that are inappropriate. So in some ways it doesn't seem like too big a deal to let them take the fall this one time.

      The ethical dilemma is weighing on me heavily as I take my thermos of coffee from my backpack. I try to pour some of it out, but nothing happens. The coffee will not drip out. I remove the lid to the thermos to see what is causing the obstruction, and it is clogged up with mud and live, wiggly grub worms. I scream in alarm and throw the thermos out of the room.

      Immediately I realize how silly I'm behaving and I go out into the hall to retrieve my thermos. Surely the bugs just crawled in as I was gardening over the weekend, and a good washing will take care of them. But as I'm about to re-enter the classroom, I look around the hall and notice a hidden camera. I stand below the camera to see where it is filming and notice that it is pointed directly at the middle of the classroom. It is filming everything that happens inside the classroom.

      It is inevitable, then, that someone will see the video and see that I threw the feces across the room. I did it, and the video will reveal that I let an innocent and vulnerable special needs child take the blame for my insane and disgusting behavior. I think about how much I'll be ridiculed and ostracized once this video hits YouTube and the evening TV news.

      I try to think of an explanation that will make my case sympathetic, but I really can't think of anything. I just can't explain why I would do such a crazy thing. It seemed normal at the time when I was in the dark, alone. But now I just can't understand it. I feel humiliated, ashamed and confused. I just don't know what to do.

      Updated 04-20-2015 at 07:40 PM by 38879

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    2. Ninety-One

      by , 12-12-2014 at 03:52 PM
      In which H knows she's dead...

      H was in my dream again last night, only this time she was dead and she knew she was dead. She tried to explain why she did it. I can't remember her reasons, but I do remember feeling that I was finally getting some explanation. I tried to tell her how it crushed us. I asked her if she thought of us, and she said how she thought we'd get on and get over it, and I explained how actually everything was different now and how we aren't talking about being sad, but rather being completely unable to even function for months. She became defensive, and I tried to reassure her that I wasn't angry. She told me something to tell J, only she called him B. I corrected her but tried to make it sound like a question. "Don't you mean J?" "That's right!" she answered, and she threw her head back and laughed in a hearty way. It sounded just like her, and I can hear it now.

      Then it turned sinister. She started to poke at my ribs. At first, I acted like it was just goofing around, and I tried to be a good sport about it. Then I started to tell her to stop, but she became more aggressive. I tried to walk away, but she came after me and overpowered me. I realized I was dreaming and became lucid. H started to look more like a phantom or a demon than herself. I tried to stop the dream or run away, but I couldn't control it. I tried to wake up. I screamed and tried to hold my breath. There was no way to get out of the dream. Meanwhile, the demon was attacking me now- pushing me, holding me down and tickling me, punching me in the face. I was frustrated that I couldn't wake up. Even though I knew it wasn't real, it was still very painful. I decided to just submit- to lay still and relax in the hopes that I would fall into a different dream, but the pain and the attack was too uncomfortable. Finally I succeeded in screaming so loudly that it woke me up.


      In which I go fishing...

      My father was helping me prepare my rod to go fishing. We were attaching small lead weights and packing the tackle box. He told me to use cheese as bait for catfish. The only cheese I had in my fridge is the yummy new cheddar R bought last night at the grocery store. My father told me to smush the cheese into a little ball around the hook, the way we used to do with Catfish Charlie's when I was a girl. I asked him if we could use any old cheese or if it had to be the nice cheddar, and he said even sliced yellow American would work. Later I threw all the materials and a giant catfish in the back of my truck.

      In which tiny people live in my backpack...

      I'm at someone's house, and a man is ill- sleeping on a pallet on the floor of the living room. I'm in the back bedroom with my work backpack which contains my water bottle and coffee thermos. A family of tiny people live in the back room. Two of them crawl inside my backpack, and my thermos falls over and crushes one tiny person's arm. I run into the living room with the ill man and ask how much Ibuprofen we can safely give per mg of body weight. He is still on the floor, but he looks up at me and scoffs. "Stupid American! We don't measure body weight by mg!" I try to explain that we do when the people in question are part of the tiny family that lives in his back bedroom, but he is just convinced that I don't understand the metric system and won't help me calculate the correct amount of painkiller. I get some Ibuprofen and try to break off an incredibly small crumb for the tiny hurting lad. It takes a long time to reset his bones and wrap them up in a tiny splint. Then I remember that I left the catfish in the back of my truck. I run outside and have a look at it; it has rotted and it stinks. What wasteful behavior! A pointless death.


      I haven't posted my dreams regularly for a long time now. Maybe I'll come in later and start writing up a few I've missed.

      Updated 04-20-2015 at 07:40 PM by 38879

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