All right, no more sleep for me for today. Or for the rest of the week, I think. I just woke up from this psychotic dream, and I’m just done. That’s it. I really don’t feel like sleeping again for a long time. Hell, I might just check myself into therapy after the gem of a dream I just woke up from. I mean, there’s psychotic, and then there’s “Goddammit what the @#$% is wrong with me?!?!” I mean, seriously, I’ve had it with my brain. Wanna know why? Here ya go:

Okay, so I was in a fairly large classroom, not one I’d ever taught in before. A few of the students I have currently were in the room, but most of them were complete strangers as is normal in dreams. At any rate, the room was a long rectangle but instead of the desks going deep so there were few columns but many rows, the room was wide with only three rows of chairs but many, many columns. There was a long chalkboard along the wall behind me, and for some odd reason a student had elected to sit in a spare desk at the end of the chalkboard facing the class rather than try to find a seat in with the rest of the class. She was somewhat overweight with olive skin and shoulder-length dark hair and a pretty homely face. Really nothing to write home about, most particularly because of the constant sneer that seemed to have tatooed itself on her pear-shaped face. I remember her most for reasons you’ll read below.

I was lecturing on something, and I can’t remember if it was French or University 101, but that doesn’t matter. All of a sudden, the class in front of me is erupting with talk and laughter, and I couldn’t figure out why because I hadn’t said anything funny. Then I realized they were looking at the girl by the board. She had stood up at her desk, pulled her pants down to her knees, and was using an electric razor to shave her pubic hair. Yeah. I’m serious. And even though I’m dreaming and am therefore unconscious and not in control of all my mental faculties, I find myself thinking, “What the hell is going on here and what the @#$% is wrong with me for dreaming this?!” And since once I gain understanding that I’m in a dream I can often control the dream within certain parameters, I decide that this has simply got to end.

I turn around from my lecture and tell her, “That’s it. Clean up that hair, get your things, and get out of my classroom. Consider yourself gone and you get an F in the class.” She seemed to comply, grabbing a few handfuls of hair and pulling her pale green pants up, but then as she was walking toward the door, she pulled the guard off the razor so the blade was exposed (Something I don’t recall ever having seen an electric razor do, but this is a dream after all.) and then she came at me.

The ensuing fight went pretty much like this: she flew at me from a distance of about five feet, and in that time, I had enough sense to get my arms up in front of my face. I managed to get my right arm up in a position to where I would deflect her to the outside of my body rather than head-on, so I could grab her arm, but in the process she managed to slice all the way up my arm from about midway up my forearm to my shoulder (I was wearing one of those shirts with very short sleeves, like almost nonexistant sleeves.), which immediately turned into a red line like I could have drawn with a marker and a ruler. I grabbed her wrist and twisted my body into hers, using a throw I learned in Judo class to throw her to the ground. Then using the same stuff I learned in Judo, I spun on her, wrapping my legs around her arm and holding it out straight in an arm bar with one hand still on her wrist. I pushed up with my hips so she could feel that a) she couldn’t move her arm and that b) I could break her arm with minimal effort in this position.

“Don’t move, you bitch,” I said to her, knocking the razor out of her hand and across the room. My arm was bleeding all over the place, but I really wasn’t paying attention to that. I was pissed, and justifiably too. “I could break your arm at any time, so don’t even try it.” Then I turned to the class and said, “Someone give me a cellphone. I’m going to call campus police and this bitch is going to jail.”

At that point, I woke up, my right arm aching from where it had been slashed in the dream. It was only 5:30 in the morning, and seeing as how I had gone to bed last night really early with a headache, dismenorrhea cramps, and groaning intestines (stupid IBS and Taco Bell), I decided I’d slept enough and could stand just not sleeping for the next week. Maybe the next month. Seriously, man, I’ve had it. I’m done. This is just the latest psychotic dream I’ve had this week in a long line of really fucked up, vivid dreams. I’m finished.