I was awakened yet again by a nightmare about my ex at around 4 am. I sat up, lit a cigarette (never smoke while laying down, this is dangerous) and went on Facebook.

I wasted a few minutes hoping to reprogram my brain or something with the power of social media.

Finding that nobody is really active in the middle of the night, I turned off my iPhone and laid back down, hoping that I had eradicated my fucking ex from my unconscious mind.

 

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Perhaps with some extra strength brain bleach and tons of therapy.

 

Instead, I started dreaming about being chased by zombies. I was with a group of strangers, almost like I was in an early episode of The Walking Dead. I am two episodes behind so I didn’t have zombies in my head. I did, however, watch a lovely (and by lovely, I mean terrifying) show about giant killer hornets last night but I bet that info has been tucked away for future night terrors.

At least I was able to stay alive in my dream by using my awesome ninja moves to pop the fucking reanimated corpses heads off.

I would have been dead quickly in a true to life zombie scenario within a few minutes because I really don’t have awesome ninja moves.

I don’t think that you can kill a zombie with sarcasm.

So I woke up again and checked the time. 5:15 am.

 

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Well, shit on a Ritz cracker.

 

At least the zombie dream was mildly entertaining, although it would have been really great if my tormentor had made an appearance and gotten eaten by a pack of them.

It was a bit too early for me to get up yet, so I decided to go to the bathroom to tinkle and then try again to get a little more sleep. Just one more hour of undisturbed shuteye was all that I wanted. I had seen enough mayhem to last one night, thank you ever so much brain.

I drifted off again and before I knew it, I was back with my little group of survivors, only this time we were driving in a car. I was in the backseat trying to buckle my safety belt but it wouldn’t buckle. The plan was to travel south and find the ocean, where we would all get on a boat and be safe from zombie attacks.

This never happened because my dog Maya decided that it was time for me to wake up. She jumped in bed with me and started licking my toes.

It was now 7:30 am.

“Okay, girl. I’m up now, thank you.”

She continued to lick my toes because dogs are sweet but gross.

I’ve always had vivid nightmares ever since I was a little girl (being chased by Winnie the Pooh was a reoccurring one) but I am getting damn tired of having these freaky PTSD bouts with my ex.

It sort of says something about how badly that son of a bitch did me if I’d rather be dreaming about battling zombies.

Do you ever have dreams or nightmares that keep coming back?

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