(P.S. don't you hate it when someone wants to tell you about their dreams!)
I got a local job in town working at the UT branch of the Mutter Museum. I was very disconcerted because there was little orientation, administrative instruction, or clear organization, but I was good at my job and slightly depressed. The building was so stark and I walked to it from my home. Everyday I saw Katie driving in a strange camper truck, pulling a trailer of old wooden chairs and straps, with Otis hanging out the window without an actual face; like his doggy nose was missing and so were his eyes. I never said hello to her, because Otis's face made my nerves ragged.
I would frequently see photos on the Facebook of my ex taking strange pictures in the building and it always seemed eerie to me, like he was a ghost doing some haunting. I frequently went into the office wondering if I should tell him I worked there so he would stop coming, however I never ran into him.
Since the building creeped me out so much, I searched public records and learned that several years earlier there was a massacre with a deranged gunman who killed over 100 people. I found a documentary about the event and watched it in horror. People were hiding in bathrooms, under couches, in elevators, etc. while the shooting was happening, but the gunman succeeded in killing every person in the building save 3 over the course of several hours. (Two of the people that weren't killed were Juggalos who broke into the building to 'occupy' it and the gunman didn't want to give them the satisfaction of dying.) While watching the film, the carreer girl in my kept thinking, "This wouldn't have happened if there was organization and established policies/procedures for such attacks." The worst part was that instead of viewing the documentary like an audience it played through my mind like I was the gunman; first person. So, there was blood splattering on my face and an intensity of emotion trying to hunt down people.Essentially, last night I was a murderous gunman. It woke up in a cold sweat and was a little sad to be without someone to snuggle me. I hate going back to sleep after those type of dreams. My therapeutic techniques afterwards are to go to the bathroom while telling myself, "This is real. I'm really doing this." followed by drinking water and counting my muscle groups while flexing each one simultaneously. It worked and I fell asleep without feeling like a sociopath. Sometimes I wonder if I should make my dreams into novelettes or short films; too bizarre.