The Nightmares Are Back

What's a man gotta do to get some sleep around here?

Last night was weird. Super weird. Three nightmares in a row, each waking me up in the middle of the night, each pissing me off and depriving me of a good nights sleep. I can even remember the first one because it felt so real.

There I was, leaving work, walking to my car. Except it wasn't my car. I drove to work in my ex's car. Along the way the clubs were already starting up their nights of excess and hookers littered the streets and I couldn't find her car.

She was gonna kill me.

It wasn't where I parked it. I double checked and triple checked. I walked up and down the entire area, maybe I parked it somewhere else.

But it's gone. It's gone, and she's gonna scream and shout and berate and belittle me like she did all those times before. She's gonna make me feel two inches tall and I'm gonna take it like a little bitch because I had no idea how to stand up for myself when I was with her.

I press the button of the car alarm. Nothing.

Nada.

Zip. Zit. Zero.

The biiiig goose egg.

The hookers hassle me, the lights strobe my eyes and the panic floods over me like fire ants, nipping and biting and stinging me throughout.

I won't get out of this alive.

I'm dead.

I'm gonna lose.

I'm... hang on. I'm not going out with her anymore, am I?

And with that I woke up in my bed at 3am, tense and alert, coiled spring, wondering what the fuck is going on in my head that it thought to bring that up.

The rest of the night wasn't any better. Dreams of dodgy alleyways in London, femme fatales who'd be the death of me, department stores from hell and evil fleshy bits.

I don't like the fleshy bits.

By the time morning came I was dead tired. I hadn't had any proper sleep at all and moma cat was dying for attention.

Dear God, let me sleep.