rshort1202

(fragment) I am outside and walking along a thin dirt trail. It descends a short but steep incline, crosses what looks like a thin dry creek, and then ascends another hill. There is a lady coming down the incline opposite me. She stops and makes sure no one is coming before she crosses the dry creek. I see her do this and give her a thumbs up to let her know she’s clear. She then passes me and makes a rude, unjust comment about me doing that for her. Angry, I aggressively cuss her out. I don’t get why she would get angry over my doing that.



(fragment) I am in a store and debating buying a book. It is a slender book of current need-to-know beers written by a woman. It seems too short, but I think it could be a good addition to my collection, especially since the small, yellowish sticker on it informs me that it’s only $1. I think I start off but then go back for it

We have a shoplifter back in the booking room. He is darker skinned and definitely a juvenile. He even seems closer to a preteen than a teenager. I think he was being uncooperative and/or difficult, and I am being pretty aggressive? I think he is lying on the floor or leaning at a severe angle in the chair, and I am yelling at him and hitting him?, but it seems justified.



*I think there were a few more fragments of dreams about bringing shoplifters back. It was slightly uncomfortable to recall hitting someone in a dream; I did not write this until a day later.

I am at work when I notice a shorter, pudgy blond boy holding a shirt and standing right by the mall entrance. He is sort of obscured by the racks of clothes, but i still see him conceal the shirt somewhere on him and then exit. I know I’m not cleared to stop people by myself, and I don’t know where Lainey is right now, but I run after him anyway, feeling that it is justified. I go up to him and just tell him that he needs to come back. I let him lead, staying pretty close to him, noticing how young he looks. I ask his name and he tells me. I ask his age, and he tells me something like 13. I think about how old kids are looking for their age these days. At some point a girl has started walking with us, like she’s with him. When we get to the door, I tell them to put their bags and phones up on the desk. I recover the merchandise, hanging it on the wall. There are Nike sweats, two things from Pink, and something from another store. Now, there are three 20-somethings sitting in here, in three chairs facing the desk. They have grabbed the paperwork and are filling it out themselves, nonchalantly. The guy in the middle is even reclining and has his phone set up and playing a video or something. I take it and set it on the desk. Now, it is the boy and girl again. I look over and notice the girl playing a game on her phone. I hit it out of her hand, saying “Get off your fucking phone, I’m not fucking kidding.” Now, it seems a little later, and I’m being invited into a house by a slightly older looking Nathaniel’s dad. I get the impression that the two earlier were Nathaniel and Beatrice and he wants to talk to me about it. He plays a tape or recording and I hear myself saying what I said earlier and hear the phone hit the ground. He politely tells me that he thinks I was being aggressive. His mom is here now too, and I tell them that I’m very quiet and so I have to try to be more assertive. I tell them we never try to be mean to people there, that we tell everyone it can be easy and we want it to. They seem understanding. I also tell them that like half of the people we get are homeless and that it’s saddening.

I am at a house. It seems like I may be staying here for a little while, as in a few nights. Andrea from high school is here too. I’m about to take a shower, and I find out, as she comes over at the same time, that she was about to too. I think there is some discussion, after which I end up taking a quick shower first. I am getting ready to go see a therapist? Mom and Makayla are coming with me, or at least are in the car. I think I’m driving. The landscape is sort of empty and drab. (*The following is not the best recollection, and almost seems like it was from another dream but like it fits with this one too). While talking with the woman therapist, I become angered with the inefficiency of the whole thing and end up beating her. (*This feels very gross to write; in the dream there didn’t seem to be too much emotion behind it, just simple physical contact).

I have gotten into my car that is parked on the side of a residential road. It is dark out. I think I am parked facing the wrong way. I turn the key but the engine just chokes and does not start. Flustered, I try again. It still won’t start… but I realize the car is already started. Part of what aids in this realization is the fact that I see the curb appearing to slowly slide backwards. The car is moving, so I start to step on the gas. It seems to be light out now, as I’m driving on a two (or four?) lane road. A white SUV is stopped at an intersecting road to the right; I see her waiting, but then she pulls right out in front of me. I have to brake and honk. She looks a little confounded as she slowly starts to drive in the other direction. I watch her in my mirror and see her pull out in front of another car, a green SUV with wood paneling. This car has to swerve, and ends up partially over the curb. The white car is stopped as well. The driver of the green SUV (a shorter, pudgy black lady?) gets out immediately, storms over, and punches the other lady through her open window. I am at a light and can watch them in my mirror as they brawl on the street. The black lady now lifts the other lady (who is holding a folding lawn chair?) as high as she can and slams her down to the ground. I’m a little shocked that just happened, and I’m pretty sure that’ll be the end of their fight.

I am staying with Melissa at her house (though it looks different). I’m going to be sleeping on the floor right next to her bed. I am upstairs, while she is downstairs. Throughout the night, I wake up a few times with a disconcerting feeling. When I wake one of the times, I discover that I’ve broken her glasses. I have no memory of doing so, but I know it must’ve been me. One lens is out of the frame and cracked. I notice that the other lens is also heavily cracked, which I hadn’t noticed before. I wonder if she’s been wearing them like this. It still saddens me to think of accidentally breaking them, and think about buying her a new pair. I also remember her other pair. I look up now and see her in this dim room. Comforted by her presence, I hug her. I relay to her the disconcerting feelings.



I’m with Melissa at some food place. We get to the counter and look up at their large menu. It seems to be Mexican food. Melissa orders a few tacos, then I step up to order. I ask the guy for a certain taco, but he says he only has a steak one. I can see the taco I want on the menu, but I don’t care too much, telling him that’s fine. I also add a burrito. He gives me a little container of red hot sauce. He also grabs a bottle of a more orange looking hot sauce. He squirts some towards me, most hitting the counter, but some landing on the floor between my feet and a little bit on my shorts. He seems nonchalant but also like he’s getting a kick out of it. I’m not exactly mad, just a little put off that it got on my shorts.



I am in a parking lot, where Mom has gotten into a verbal fight with Ashley (from the preschool, the one Melissa also worked with). They are yelling at each other, over something unknown, as I reach out to hug Mom and then attempt to do the same to Ashley. She doesn’t let me, so I desist. I then contemplate taking Mom’s side and fighting back. I go over to her silver SUV and tap it a few times with my fist. There is an unstated knowing in her hesitation as I walked over to it that I had intent to damage it.



I am driving up a narrow and winding road on a hill and through a small neighborhood (pretty much a house on each side of the road, i.e. no more than two deep). I’m calling it Stead, even though it looks nothing like it. I hear Dad on the phone with Matt. Dad is declining going to a party tonight - “we’re party people, but just not tonight, period.”

I am in a restaurant with Melissa. The restaurant seems to have some self-service element to it, or at least some food on counters behind glass. After we’ve been seated for a little bit, we get up to get some food. There are a couple 20-something girls working behind the counter; I ask one for some of a salad. They say something about it being really spicy, as if I can’t handle it. I think they may not be giving it to me because of this, but I tell them I can handle it even spicier or something similar. This evidently causes some animosity, but I think they give me some. I notice that they all have darker skin, and I’m not sure if it has anything to do with the way they’re treating me (I’m tempted to think it’s because I’m white). When we go back again, we still get poor service, seemingly deliberately. There is one girl in particular (with darker skin and darker, bushy hair) who is blatantly ignoring us. I think we try to say something and another girl (white, with blond hair) defends her. I don’t know what we’ve done wrong. This is enough now to cause this girl to start ranting at us. She starts going off, and things keep escalating until she is out here by us, tirading. I have some dish of food that I end up setting down so I can record her with my phone. I think she almost kicks the food over. I’m not even upset, just in disbelief at how unwarranted her behavior is. After it’s over, I go back to the counter to file a complaint. I tell one of the girls that I get it, I’ve worked in food service, but there is absolutely no reason she should’ve done that to a customer. Oddly, they happily oblige and hand me a form. I start writing, detailing everything, and it becomes quite long. I run out of space on the thick, brown paper that looks more like a menu and end up writing on a table?