nightmare on argyle street

About 2-3 weeks ago, I had this horrible, crippling dream.

It was one of those that starts off normal enough, maybe the content is a little sensitive/sad (re: ex - relationships), and say, suppose, you dream the pillow you are hugging is an ex-partner. Okay, whatever.

Say next, even though in your dream you are in some sick state of undeniable bliss and all is right with the world, you suddenly snap out of said sequence and realize, no, just kidding, this is just a dumb dream. Alright. But theeen, you hear your bedroom door open. Like in real life. And you hear an unfamiliar female voice gasp in fear, "oh my god," and nearly tear up in concern/fright, "oh god, no no no."

Then what the fuck do you do? You try to scream. You try to move, roll over. Motion in some way that everything's all right - this is your bed in your bedroom, you are unharmed and just taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon.

Except you can't. You can't moan, grunt, roll over, scream - nothing. You just lay there, painfully aware that you are hugging an old, stuffed feather, not the former love of your life. It's a Saturday around 5:00 PM and you are in your bed, fully dressed, contacts plucking your eyeballs of all moisture, sticking in your mascara clumped, closed eyelashes. You want to indicate you are okay, to this stranger - how they entered your apartment and why they're in your room is unknown. But the fear and concern in their voice startles you, and once you struggle to move/silently scream, you realize you are a prisoner in your own body and become suddenly terrified.

WAKE. UP.

But you can't. After about 10 long hours (or in reality, maybe 45 seconds), of complete torture, you are finally able to make a sound. And lift your head from the coccoon of "safety blankets" you have surrounded yourself with. Look around. Realize that noone has entered your aparrment, let alone your room. You are all alone. Completely, 100% alone. And it's time to reapply the smeared mascara and get ready for another night of empty, forced social activity in bars with equally lethargic peers. This part, sadly, is not a dream.