Almost there

Just two more weeks and I'll be on my way to Nepal and India for a fantastic adventure! All I have left to do before I go:

Buy lots of film
Extra batteries for cameras and headlamp
Excavate expedition weight long johns from storage
Find a not so skeezy buy not too expensive hotel in Delhi for one night (any ideas?)
Book one more train ticket (Delhi to Gwalior)
Try to meet my fundraising goal for the hospital
Treat hiking clothes with that bug repellent stuff
Return library books
Buy lots of crickets for the frogs

Mormons

I love Mormons.

I spoke in church today. There are few things I find more uncomfortable and terrifying than speaking in church. My heart races like it does when I hear the code for a real bad guy. I shake like I just finished wrestling someone and the adrenaline is trying to drain away. And I cry. That's the worst. I can find a murdered kid in the woods, look a terrified man in the eyes as he dies, and not shed a tear until I'm safely home. But put me in front of a congregation and make me speak about my testimony and I have no self control.

The topic was "why I believe." Why couldn't I speak about tithing? Tithing is a nice, safe topic. I'm pretty sure I could give a 5 to 7 minute talk on tithing without even a sniffle.

I used a quote by C.S. Lewis that I had to pause half way through because I was oddly unable to see.

"God has infinite attention to spare for each one of us. He does not have to deal with us in the mass. You are as much alone with Him as if you were the only being He had ever created. When Christ died, He died for you individually just as much as if you had been the only man [or woman] in the world."

The bishopric were all wiping their eyes when I got done. I noticed a few people in the congregation were all weepy to. Mine was the last talk of the meeting and the other two had been really good. It was a fantastic meeting and I can't count the number of people who thanked me for my talk or told me they really liked it. That was nice.

Afterwards I met a girl who told me I should give a self defense class to the women of our ward. She then told me of the cop who saved her life. She doesn't even know who he is, but he'd given a class to a bunch of women at church for Enrichment (periodic activities that cover a wide range of topics). Some time after the class a man broke into her apartment and was watching her sleep. He was pacing back and forth by her bed and then he grabbed the covers around her face. She said that she remembered the police officer saying that most attackers aren't used to their victims screaming. She said it was the hardest thing she'd ever done, but she screamed as loud as she could. He jumped back, surprised, and she was able to run past him to her roommates room where they called the police.

She doesn't know who that cop was, so she can't tell him her story and how his words very likely saved her life. We may never know the far reaching consequences of our words or our actions. People listen to us. You know, sometimes. There's a lot of power in that.

Indian prisons; how bad can they be?

It's the Turkish prisons I've always been warned against. I've never heard a peep about Indian prisons, though I don't imagine they would be filled with all the comforts of home.

Why am I suddenly curious? Well, I was reading in my Lonely Planet guidebook that women traveling alone in India shouldn't make eye contact with any men. Apparently, that would be an invitation for sex. Of course.

Unfortunately for me, looking at people is what I do. And if I see someone looking at me, I give them more than the casual glance. Why are they looking at me? Are they a threat? Are they out of place? Are they currently breaking the law?

This habit of mine may get me in trouble.


For instance, if I came across this leering man, I would look at him twice. Or three times. He would mistakenly think my attention meant he was going to star in the average American sitcom. "Sex and the City" perhaps. So he might think he could do something assinine like grab my butt. Then I might do something assinine like break his face.

This is where the Indian prison comes in. There I'd be, yelling for consular notification. I'd be thrown into a dark, dank, Count of Monte Cristo style dungeon. I'd be lucky to have a squat toilet. There wouldn't be any way to boil my water and I'd get dysentery. No hand sanitizer. No toilet paper.

Meanwhile, butt-grabber would play dumb. With no teeth and bleeding profusely from the nose, he'd make a convincing victim. He'd make no mention of the butt grab.

I'll leave a detailed itinerary with my employer. If I don't return to work, hopefully they'll start checking the prisons.

The Interview

I hate phone interviews. I'm so much better in person.

My interview with Denali was Wednesday. Wednesday night I told the sad story to Bear and Tracey at work. They didn't seem to think it was as bad as I did. They cheered me somewhat by saying that my answers sounded pretty good to them. Bear said there isn't anyone more qualified for the job than I. I think he was just trying to bolster my confidence and make me feel better, but it did work. A little. I have no idea who else was interviewed. Or how many others. There are so many talented Rangers out there. What if some guy from Yellowstone or Glacier applied? They'd never pick a Ranger who's been stuck in an urban park over someone who's been doing real rangering for the last umpteen years.

Despite this, I did get to the interview stage. And today I found out that even with that sad interview, I'm still being considered. I got an email with pictures of the area. The housing (no electricity! No running water, but a shower and laundry a short bike ride away. Yippeee!!!!), the ambulance (it would be my very own!), the patrol truck, the mountains, the dog team, the snowmachines, the patrol planes and helicopter. They have tasers, rifles, and park medics. I could be a park medic!

I also found out today that my SWAT school tuition can be refunded without any penalty up to 30 days before the class. I still have almost two months! That means that if Denali did offer me a job I could go! I didn't sign any contract, but I said I'd work here another year if they spent the money to send me to SWAT school. And I would, dream job in Denali or not.

If Denali doesn't hire me, I'm going to SWAT school! Bear said the best part of SWAT school is going out drinking with the crazy SWAT guys on the last day. When I reminded him that I don't drink, we got into a biblical discussion. What was Jesus' first miracle? he asked. It was at a wedding, he hinted. I couldn't remember, but Bear informed me that Jesus turned water into wine. I told him wine isn't as strong as vodka (Bear's drink of choice) and besides, if I were with Jesus and He offered me a glass of wine, I'd drink it, no problem. Bear then told me that if the Mormon church ever let up on the no alcohol thing, I should try some kind of drink... the name of which I've already forgotten. Ah well.

But, as I was saying, drinking with SWAT guys or not, SWAT school is going to be a fantastic experience. I got goosebumps of anticipation just reading the course description. Whatever happens, I win.

Bored?

This is really fun. Try it.

Answer the questions below.
Type each answer into photobucket.
Take any picture from the first page of results and post (click on the picture and copy the HTML code).
You can't copy the person's answers who posted this before you!
Add your own question at the end.

1. What age will you be at your next birthday?

2. A place you'd like to travel?

3. Your favorite place?

4. Your favorite object?

5. Your favorite food?

6. Your favorite animal?

7. Your favorite color?

8. The town in which you were born?

9. The name of a past pet?

10. A bad habit of yours?

11. Your first job?

12. Favorite song? (I had to get creative for the song title since there were no matching images.

13. Favorite holiday?

14. Favorite sport to watch?

15. Favorite things to do (I picked two, I couldn't decide)?




16. Nickname?

Range Day

Today was another day at the range with the SRT team. I love being on the team for a couple reasons, but the biggest one is that I get more training. They're talking about sims (simunitions= bullets that are filled with paint. It's really good training) training when it gets warm this spring. They're also adding four hours at the range in addition to our tactics training (so four more hours a month!).

Today we got to move and shoot, which we hardly ever get to do when the whole staff goes to the range twice a year to qualify. We did transitions from rifles to our pistols. We also shot head targets. Did you know that the state of Massachusetts has laws about the kinds of targets people can shoot? Maybe other states do to; it's not anything I'd ever thought about. In MA regular people can't shoot at human-shaped targets. Pictures of peoples faces would absolutely be out, but even our Trans-tar II targets are illegal for non-LEOs.


And it doesn't even have a face! I saw some state LEO targets. They've got a large rectangle with a smaller one on top. They're even less realistic than the Trans-tars. For those of you who aren't in LE, it's important that targets look realistic. Today I noticed when I was shooting at the pictures of heads, that it's different finding the target based on anatomy than it is sticking my front sight in the middle of a blue or green target. Being able to get a good headshot is important for any number of reasons. Think North Hollywood and suicide bombers.

The training was great. The first thing we did was the 60 round FLETC qualification course. None of us shot all that well, but I did get the highest score. I have to keep practicing though because I shot a lot better at FLETC.

Catholic Guilt?

Wait a minute, Liz, you're not Catholic! I know, but "Mormon guilt" isn't such a popular or well known phenomenon.

I was talking to one of my coworkers who explained that he carries off duty (for non LEOs, that means he's carrying a concealed firearm) because of his Catholic guilt. He wouldn't want to be a witness to a massacre and not have the means to fight the armed attacker. If he was unarmed, he'd never get past the guilt.

I feel the same way. The day I'm too lazy to strap on my pistol is the day the maniac runs in the grocery store to start picking people off. There I would be, trained, but unable to shoot back. A sheepdog caught napping when the wolf comes.

Would non-LEOs think I was strange or crazy if they knew I carry to the pet store, the grocery store, the post office, even to church? I carry because of the guilt I would feel if I wasn't armed when I needed to be. Would my fellow Mormons think I'm paranoid? Or have the near constant news stories of mall, church, and school shootings altered public perception?

I was reading on the Enforcer's blog about the warrior/worrier that we become after we sign up as cops. It's not normal, but I can't be any other way now. Because of the guilt.

As an aside, we were also talking about the sexy sausage shirts that have become popular with a couple of the guys at work. They're tight t-shirts that have built in holsters. Very tactical. Everything marketed to law enforcement has to be "tactical." The only problem is that the shirts aren't very flattering if you have a less than perfectly sculpted torso, hence the nickname. Sexy is sarcastic. Sausage is the reality. I haven't gotten one yet and I was complaining that they need to make scoop neck sausage shirts so I can wear them with my blouses and sweaters. The guys agreed. They should come in different colors, like lilac. With the scoop neck and spagetti straps. I then imagined Bear in the feminine version of the sausage shirt and he wondered why I was giggling.

I think the negative health effects of working nights are more than compensated for by the positive health effects of regular giggling.

BPD on a good day

I know I was whining about mean, rude Boston cops a few posts back. I should explain that some of them are nice. For instance, the guy who stopped to help me out last week. He's one of the few I know by name and I run into him now and then.

Last night I met him in Store 24 and we started gabbing. We talked about disgusting, stinky people, cockroaches (he had a picture of a very large one on his phone), my upcoming trip, tigers, the zoo, and the New England Aquarium. He was surprised I've never been, especially when I told him I volunteered at the Seattle Aquarium when I was a kid. I've never been because it's somewhere around $30 to get in.

Later that night, he stopped by (while I wasn't in) and dropped off an envelope with my name on it. Inside was a free pass to the aquarium good until November 2008.

Isn't that nice? Inter-agency relations aren't always bad. There're a few pretty cool ones out there.

What's wrong with this story?

Thanks to Shannon and Richard for this story from The Fairbanks Daily News Miner

Assault

• A Delta Junction man had to be subdued with a Taser by Alaska State Troopers after pulling a knife on his adopted sister, who was also his ex-girlfriend.

Steven Worley, 18, has been charged with two counts of third-degree assault.

Troopers were called to a Delta Junction home Sunday after Worley became upset that his ex was seeing someone else and pushed the woman down and made stabbing motions with a knife.

The pair’s mother was able to push him off and he left for about 30 minutes, according to a criminal complaint filed in court.

He then returned to the home, threw a 15-pound dumbbell at the woman, and again came at her with the knife, the report stated.

When troopers arrived, Worley would not comply with their commands to drop the knife and was tased before being taken into custody.

Mama's Me-Me game

Mama wants me to play her game. I enjoyed reading 7 things about Mama, so I'll return the favor, but I'll pass on tagging others to do the same.


Here are 7 "things" about me.

1. I am 29 years old. Yes, folks, nearly 30, but not there yet. The White Ranger said when his 30th birthday was looming he felt the need to go skydiving and do a couple other things from a list of "What I need to do before I'm 30." I don't have a list, but I am not looking forward to this milestone birthday. I feel old and I despair of ever reaching some of my goals. Unfortunately, skydiving isn't one of them. That would be easy to get done (although I might pee myself in the process).



2. Since as far back as I can remember, I've loved the outdoors. One of my earliest memories is of kissing a frog I found in my swimming pool. I wasn't kissing it because of that whole Prince story, I felt sorry for it. We were living in Edwards AFB at the time. In the Mojave desert. I felt bad for the little guy, since water was so hard to find. He needed a kiss. I was always catching bugs, snails (not hard to catch), lizards, frogs, toads, minnows, snakes (the one thing Mama wouldn't let me bring in the house), whatever I could get my hands on.



3. My first career choice was "Grasshopper salesman," or so I told Mama. But I'd only sell to people who wanted them as pets. What can I say? I thought I was pretty darn good at it. How was I to know there's not a huge market for that kind of thing? Then I was going to be a zookeeper. I won a Father's Day contest when I wrote an essay saying that I loved my dad and that because he's so strong, he would catch elephants to put in my zoo. In the fourth grade I was in class and the teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. After four or five other girls said they wanted to be veterinarians, I realized I'd have to pick something else. First, I didn't want to be like the other girls. Second, I didn't want to do a job that only girls wanted to do. Third, I didn't want to compete with so many people. Fourth, I liked wild animals better anyway. So by the time it was my turn I'd decided I wanted to be a wildlife biologist. I was the only one in the room. In high school I started volunteering with a search and rescue post. I really got something out of finding pieces of murder victims and searching for evidence for the sheriffs. I enjoyed finding the live people even more. That's when I decided I wanted to work in law enforcement. But I got a wildlife biology degree anyway, because I love science.



4. I'm learning to play the bagpipes. I hate playing "Amazing Grace," but it's the first tune I learned. I also can play "Grand Old Flag," "Highland Cathedral," "Robin Adair," "Will Ye No Come Back Again," "Scots Wha Hae," "High Road to Gairloch," "The Cassions," "The Marine Hymn," "Anchor's Aweigh," "The Minstrel Boy," "The Rowan Tree," "The Isle of Innisfree," and "Going Home." The bagpipes are my third instrument. I started with the clarinet in 5th grade through high school. I played the oboe my senior year.


5. I love to travel. I've been to New Zealand twice, Scotland three times, The Netherlands, the Bahamas, French Polynesia, The Yukon, BC, and all over the US. My list of places to visit far exceeds the list of places I've been. After my Nepal/India trip next month, I want to go to Switzerland, South Africa, Peru, Patagonia, Uganda, Australia, New Zealand (I know I've already been there, but dang it, it's beautiful), Bolivia, Brazil, and China. My list is subject to change and constant revision.


6. I like to read. I just finished a pirate tale, and I'm halfway through a story on the rescue of the POWs from Cabanatuan. I wouldn't mind writing a book someday.


7. I like long backpacking trips. Especially solo or with a good friend. I like to take my time, take pictures, stop creekside to soak my feet in the water and see what lives under the rocks. I like to sit on my backpack and let the wind dry my sweaty back while I eat warm chunks of smoked gouda cheese or salty sweet gorp. I like to stop walking just to hear the sounds around me. I like to see tracks in the snow and the mud. I like to smell the piney smell of a dry forest in the Sierras and the wet, tangy smell of the ocean as I hike along an empty beach. I like to look back and see how far I've come on my own two tired feet.

Nicknames

Working my shift can be kind of lonely. Half of my night I'm on with just my dispatcher for company. The other half I work with either The Bear or Bob. I love working with the knuckle dragging ursine, and Bob is alright. He can't replace Greg, who is off at FLETC, but he's nice enough.

But now that I'm on the team I feel the camaraderie again. I usually get in it much smaller doses because of all the solo time that goes along with the third shift. But the team trainings are so much fun! It's serious business punctuated with hilarity and humor. Or is it the other way around?

Last month we were coming up with nicknames for each other. This is convenient since there are two Daves on the team. For the rest of us, it's just fun. Greg gave Bear his nickname, but not because Bear is a large, intimidating, hairy man (which is where I thought it came from). Apparently the homosexual men who roam the Cape and have sex with other men on the beach are referred to as bears. Our Bear isn't homosexual, but he did previously work on the Cape. So did Greg. I would've picked a primate name for Bear instead. His extra big arms that are too long for the BDU sleeves make me think of Apes and Gorillas instead of bears. Or of small children who are wearing shirts they've outgrown... However, I am entirely too interested in my own self-preservation to be the one to suggest PeeWee. Bear will have to do.

There's also Pickles, who got his name at SWAT school. He puked during training after eating a hefty helping of the mutated cucumbers. The name stuck. I guess it could've been worse. He could've fropped up sushi or brussel sprouts.

My boss has been dubbed McLovin, a character from the movie "Super Bad." Bear says I wouldn't want to watch the movie because of the "adult content." Do I really want to know what teenage boys think about all the time? he asked. I thought about that for just a second and decided that the movie is probably along the same lines as "American Pie" which I did not find entertaining. So Bear's right, I'll pass on "Super Bad."

The origin of Linc's nickname will remain a mystery to me. I happened to inquire about how he came to be known by an abbreviation of a former president's name. Bear told me I didn't want to know. An answer like that only makes me more curious. The whole team was trapped in a fit of giggles, except for Linc, who looked supremely uncomfortable. I persisted, surely someone would sate my curiosity? Laughing, Bear told me that no one in the room would tell me. It must have been obscene. Linc assured me it was nothing he'd ever done, seen, or heard of. He'd gotten an email (an unsolicited email Bear pointed out) and by telling others about the email, he earned the name.

In the past, Bear has warned me of things that I'd rather not know about. For instance, I was reading an article in the Boston Herald on the top quotes for 2007. Things like, "Don't Tase me, bro." There was something in the article about "two girls, one cup," but the paper said if we didn't know, it wasn't going to tell us. Bear was in the kitchen so I asked him what it was all about. He absolutely refused to tell me. He told me I didn't want to know. He told me I could ask Greg, who knows all about it or I could google it, but he would never tell. I asked Tracey, my dispatcher. She'd never heard the supposedly famous quote either and her curiosity was also piqued. I mean, how bad could it be? It was in the newspaper! So we googled it and to be safe, we just read about it on Wikipedia (we were on gov't computers, after all). I felt no need to watch the video that spawned the quote. Bear was right, I didn't need to know and I feel dumber with the knowledge than I had without. Please, if you don't know what "two girls, one cup" refers to, DON'T look it up. If you do, don't blame me.

With that in mind, I will trust his sage advice and I won't try to learn the origins of Linc's obscene nickname. I appreciate the fact that the entire team refused to tell me. I like being one of the guys, but not in all ways. I'm glad I'm spared the raunchy locker room conversations. If my gender can save me from being exposed to extreme obscenity I'll take it, equality in the workplace be damned!

The team also informed me that my nickname would be Lizard. I told them they weren't very unique, as that has been my nickname since high school. The team leader was all for Iguana, but that doesn't readily roll off the tongue. The rest of the team voted for Gecko. Geckos are much cuter than Iguanas, so I'm content. It's better than Pickles. But since I haven't been to SWAT school yet I still have the chance to produce a nickname from the contents of my stomach. I'll let you know.

Professional Courtesy

I'm not talking about getting out of tickets (a practice I don't particularly agree with), I just mean being civil, polite, and courteous to fellow officers, even if they're not in your agency.

Tonight I was driving to one of our monuments, so I was outside of my jurisdiction. I went through an intersection and heard a huge crash behind me. I lit up and turned around. I heard a woman screaming, the sound echoing off the tall buildings. I found her car on its side in the middle of the street, surrounded by a cluster of bystanders (where did they all come from at midnight?). I called out and asked for Boston officers and EMS (redundant, since a bunch of people were calling 911), then I hopped out of my cruiser, grabbed my EMS bag, and got to the car just as the group of bystanders were lifting it up enough that the driver crawled out of the window.

She was hysterical, but amazingly unscathed. She wasn't the huge trauma victim I anticipated. The people in the car she hit were uninjured, and they were some of the people who'd helped her get out. She emerged from the car and I took her over to the sidewalk. I tried to get her to sit down, but she was too panicked. It took me forever just to get her name. Thankfully, the ambulance was there in seconds and they led her away.

A BPD officer showed up, some short lady I'd never seen before (most women are short compared to me; she was probably 5'7"). There were a bunch of people still milling about. I went over to talk to her, point her in the direction of the people involved and the witnesses who'd actually seen the accident. She completely snubbed me, turning her back when I approached. I stood there, stunned. I thought surely she'd at least acknowledge me. Nothing. Instead she went to talk to the woman in the ambulance (I bet she got all kinds of good info from the woman who couldn't even calm down enough to tell me if she was hurt).

I was still standing around when she came out. I should have left instead of staying around so she could ignore me again. She went to talk to the other people involved. Her cruiser was blocking traffic from one direction; mine was blocking it from the other way. Once the fire trucks and the ambulance left, we were the only traffic control. Believe it or not, people were driving around our cars and trying to maneuver through the scene.

She never even looked at me. Never said a word. I didn't even get the nod. Nothing. I was so offended I wanted to leave and let her deal with the cars that would inevitably wander into her scene and then have to back out or drive on the sidewalk. The cabs are the worst.

The only thing that kept me was the tow truck. About the time I was mad enough to leave, it showed up. It was the same company who comes for all of our stuff. I like those guys, they're the fastest dang tow company I've ever dealt with and they're always very nice. I stayed so the tow truck driver could do his job without getting run over or hassled by stupid drivers. He was almost done when another BPD car pulled up and I left immediately. If they don't want to even acknowledge me, why should I stay?

It's not like I expect them to be friendly or to even speak to me, but blatantly ignoring me when I'm there being helpful is a little hard to take. I've never seen anything like this. In every other place I've worked the different law enforcement agencies have gotten along. Sure, some of those AK state troopers have big egos, but they were still polite, professional, and courteous to the rest of us.

Sigh. I'll get over my hurt feelings and I'll do the same thing next time. I will do whatever I can to help those guys out, even if they're rude and don't appreciate me.

Dreams of Violence

Lately I've had several dreams that involve violence of some kind. Is this a sign of a deep psychological problem, or is it merely that my violent dreams are the ones I remember?

First there was the dream I had a few months ago when my ex-boyfriend was hassling me. I dreamed that I was in the kitchen with Bill when the doorbell rang. I like Bill, he's a good roommate. He's also very skinny, almost frail. I try to feed him whenever possible, but he refuses to gain weight. In the dream, Bill went downstairs to answer the door. Then I hear a ruckus and Bill called for help. It was a yell that scared me; he sounded hurt. I launched myself down the stairs to his rescue and smacked right into my ex, who had pushed past Bill. It scared me so badly that I woke up. Then I went back to sleep and started dreaming the same dream only this time, I'd been making dinner while wearing my boots instead of sandals and when I met the ex on the stairs I pushed him down and proceeded to kick his butt.

Then I had the dream I posted about, the naked guys that I antagonized and then beat up. I had the dream shortly after my coworker told me of an incident that happened while he was working at a national seashore. There are huge problems with homosexual men looking for and finding people to have sex with on the beaches and trails. If you aren't into that kind of thing, watch out! My poor friend was walking in one of these areas when a complete stranger came up and grabbed his crotch. The man was subsequently charged with disorderly conduct. Which would be the same charge as someone who refuses to turn their music down, for example. It's baloney! He should've been charged with assault, but the park doesn't want to upset the gay community or some such nonsense. Maybe the judges don't understand what a problem it is, I don't know. I think the frusteration my friend's story caused me led to the dream about the guys being naked on the beach and the urgent need I felt to throw sand at them and beat them up.

A couple weeks ago I took a class at a local adult education center. It was a two hour lecture on Sex Trafficking in Nepal and India (where I'm going, coincidentally. See this website for more info: http://friendsofmaitinepal.org/). Imagine the dreams now! I dreamt I was walking in an outdoor market in India when I saw a lady all dressed up in fancy Indian style garb and lots of jewelry. The lady was kicking a little girl who was curled up in the filthy street. I ran over and got in the woman's face. I demanded to know what she was doing. She said the girl was her daughter. I looked at the kid and she had Mongoloid features (in the class they told us that Nepalese girls with light skin and Mongoliod facial features fetch a higher price) so she obviously wasn't related to the Indian lady. So I kicked the woman in the shin and pushed her into a table of fruit. I reached my hand out to the kid and she took it. We ran through the market and I tried to think of where we could go. The kid didn't speak English and I was worried that she thought she'd traded one slaver for another. I couldn't take her to the US Embassy, what would they care? And if I went to the Indian police I'd get thrown in an Indian jail to rot and the kid'd be back where I'd gotten her. So I took her to my hotel where I cleaned the blood off her face and fed her. I dressed her up in my oversized clothes to try to disguise her and then we were on a bus crossing into Nepal. (I love how dreams cut out the travel time.) Then we were in Kathmandu at the door to the rehabilitation center (and hospice for those dying of AIDS) for former sex slaves. I learned about that in the class to. I was crying because I couldn't stay and I couldn't bring the kid home with me.

The class prompted me to google sex trafficking and I read a story about sex slaves in the US. I read about a 15 year old abducted from her driveway and kept in a dog kennel for 40 days, an add on Craig's list bringing men to rape her day and night. Here's the story: http://abcnews.go.com/Primetime/story?id=1596778
Reality is worse than any nightmares I might have.

The next night I had a dream where I found myself held captive at some trashy house. A nasty woman told me I'd work there for a week and then I'd be free to go (I knew she was lying about the week thing to keep me docile). I pretended that it wouldn't be that bad and I gained her trust enough that she left me alone in the kitchen. I was able to steal a small kitchen knife before I was put in my room for the night. My door was locked from the outside and there was a hefty screen on the window. It was a screen of criss-crossed bars, but lucky for me, the screen was screwed onto the inside of the window. I was using the knife to unscrew it when I heard the lock being opened on the outside of my door. I hid the knife. A man came into my room and I had to kill him so I could finish getting the screen off and escape. I cut his throat with the knife, fast, so he wouldn't make any noise and alert my captors. I finished getting the screen off and crawled through the window onto the lawn. I was in a dark residential neighborhood. Kind of run down, but there were lawns and backyard fences. I started running down the street and then I woke up.

Whew! I think I need to read happy kids books before I go to bed or something. That last one especially was not pretty. Why can't I remember any nice dreams? For instance, kittens. Why are there never any kittens in the dreams I remember? I love kittens and I could use a few to lighten up my subconscious.

My friends say it's not normal to have dreams like these. Perhaps I'm not normal. Or maybe I'm frusterated that I can't fix all the evil in the world.