I realized that I didn't really begin regularly writing them down until at least 2005. I've written about past dreams that I had when I was little, but none of those ones have certain dates. So it's getting frustrating.
Spring break itself could've been better, but at least I was home. I missed it, and very badly needed to leave campus for a while. It was a good time to go back.
That having been said, I went to sleep one night feeling angry.
I took it out on my dream and destroyed it.
I dreamt of several characters. I was back on campus, running around in the evening, somewhere between Crough and Mullen Library. Some other people were with me, and we were throwing things up in the air and letting them crash down on the ground behind us (I don't remember what they were).
Then I realized I was in a dream, and I turned to one of my companions and strangled him. He didn't fight back, or he didn't have time. I just let him crumple to the ground.
In my dream, Crough wasn't the same building, nor was it even the School of Architecture and Planning anymore -- it was some sort of art museum. I walked inside, even though it was closing soon (people were steadily leaving in larger groups) -- one or two people followed me as I stepped onto the elevator and dragged my heavy hand over the buttons to every floor. And as the doors closed in front of me, I tried to set myself straight and wondered what I was doing.
Did anything have consequences here?
The doors opened, and my mind said, "No."
So I slowly stepped off, walked somewhere off to the right, and approached a security guard who was falling asleep on the job. I wrung my hands around his neck and squeezed as tightly as I could until something snapped...and I let go.
There were some more people milling around the room, gazing at paintings and being quiet. Nothing had changed. They didn't seem to notice. I got back on the elevator, where my company was holding the door for me.
Before I reached the next floor, I asked myself the same question.
And I got the same answer.
And so I did the same thing.
I went from floor to floor, strangling all the security guards in sight. None of them fought me back. They just stared at me, wide-eyed, like they suddenly forgot how to move.
Every time I got on the elevator, I was fully aware of what I was doing. But every time I left it, I seemed to lose my will to think logically and went on a blind, fury-driven rampage.
I could tell that I was destroying something that my mind made up for me. I was lucid, and I could see that the characters were ready for a dream to unfurl. But that dream never happened because of what I did. The people I dreamt of weren't made to fight me back; it was as if they didn't know anything other than what they were supposed to be doing. It was strange. I was the only one who was real. I was the only one who thought anything. I was the one making decisions for myself. I could do whatever I wanted, and nothing would happen to me. No one else thought anything, they just were -- they just existed.
No, they didn't even exist.
I was the only one who existed -- I can breathe, I can taste, I can feel and hear and see. I can think and choose.
Only I knew all of those.
I was scary in that dream.
I fell asleep feeling angry, and woke up feeling disappointed in myself. Now I'll never know what was supposed to happen that night.
I killed it.