I Dreamed a Terrifying Dream: Salamanders are Scary

I won’t speculate on the dreaming patterns of anyone reading this, but if you’re like me you only have about three or four dreams a year that your remember in any significant detail. Half of those are variations of the same four horrific nightmares that you get when you’re stressed or anxious, which have plagued you since puberty. The other half will be memorable for the sheer level of weirdness that goes on in the dream, or for their terror value. And then you get the ones that are a combination of the two. Last night I had one such dream.

It was primarily about Salamanders. Now, don’t get me wrong, salamanders are cool, and very interesting creatures, but ever since I discovered photographs of the Chinese and Japanese Giant Salamanders on the internet about six months ago, I have developed a deep-seated fear of the creatures, because honestly? They are big enough to eat me.

Hokay. So. The dream started out with me walking through my college campus and sort of randomly discovering that there was a tour group of potential students walking around, getting the guided look about campus. I started following the group because I-don’t –know-why.

Then, the tour guide announced that the group would be viewing the Native Forest and Creek Restoration Area next. Dream-Me thought “Holy shit, why did I know now that WOU had a magically sustainable forest kingdom tucked away in a small pocket of alternate dimension?” I was pretty astounded, and not a little bit impressed.

Any who, the group proceeded to walk along, taking a sharp right at that one bench across the street from the University Center and voila! We were in the Environmentally Friendly Magical Sub-Space Dimension. It was a very pretty, with lots of shiny and sparkling old growth coniferous foliage, and frolicking forest animals, with a trickling, crystal-clear creek that made charming bubbling-brook sounds as it flowed along through it all.

I was awed by beauty of it all, and became side tracked. I lost sight of the rest of the group and instead had the tramp along the bank of the creek, looking for the rest of the group shat the guide could lead me back out of this strange and wonderful place.

I was walking long for a while, getting lots of dirt all over me, when all of a sudden, BAM! A frighteningly attractive blond woman appeared from the underbrush like a ghost and walked into the creek carrying a wooden bucket. Her rather abrupt entrance and her Barbie-like physique caused me some surprise and trepidation, causing me to also step (read: trip and fall flailing) down into the creek. Also, I was suddenly barefoot, as if my shoes had been too much of a pollution-producing, child-slavery-encouraging, corrupt-capitalist-government-supporting travesty to continue to exist in is eco-terrorist’s paradise.

The woman frowned at Dream-Me and reached into her bucket, pulling out a black salamander the size of my forearm. “What on earth are you doing in the creek?” she asked me. “Only trained professionals are allowed to feed the salamanders.”

And then Dream-Me was all “WTF. Why do you have that salamander?”

And then the Supreme Barbie Look-a-like Champion let the salamander she was holding fall into the creek. It promptly wiggled away and buried itself into the pebbled creek-bed. she was all “This is a salamander sanctuary.  And only employees are allowed to feed them.”

Dream-Me was really confused and slightly scared of the impressive amount of cosmetics that caked her face. I was all “Um, I just want to get back to the tour group.”

She looked at me like I was mildly retarded, or something, and reached back into her bucket and pulled out a piece of raw and bloody meat.

I was all repulsed and confused when she then threw the meat into the creek. Then all of a sudden the creek bed beneath my bare feet began to writhe and pulse and ripple, and even more all of a sudden huge black slimy salamander limbs rose up from the creek bed, closely followed by giant, gaping, blood red salamander mouths full of dripping saliva and razor sharp fangs.

I was seized by a fit of terror, my chest all tight, my heart in my throat, frozen in place. It was worse than discovering a nest of mutant blood-sucking spiders have taken up residence on your bathroom ceiling.

All of the salamanders started trying to get to the meat and I was freaking out, and then the slimy-ness I was standing on heaved up and I fell into the mass of giant wriggly crushing salamander bodies and then I woke up.

Below I have created a graphic representation of my dream last night to summarize my narrative of the event:

The salamanders were about this size, only black. And they were scary enough that they could have started breathing fire if they hadn’t, um… been completely submerged in water. Also, I would like to assert that I don’t have hairy, hurley-burley arms in real life. In real life my arms are pasty and a little flabby. Also I wasn’t really grasping the salamanders I was screaming in horror and petrified with fear, with abolutely no intention to embrace the terror-inducing monsters.

*The original photo for my graphic represtnation was found at: http://www.buamai.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/bb-japanese-giant-salamander.jpg I do not own the photo nor do I intend to make money from it’s use here.

I Am Potentially a Mass Murderer of Farm Animals (or I Stood In a Line This Weekend)

This weekend I went to turn in an application at the Trader Joe’s that will be opening near my house this summer. There were many people who had the same hopes as I, as I had to stand in a line for like fifteen minutes. The first five minutes or so passed silently, with me either starring politely at my own shoes or at some undecided point on the horizon when my neck got sore. During one cycle of my horizon starring, the lady in front of me began to chat about our mutual state of rather casual dress.

I agreed that this was regrettable given the circumstances.

The lady in front then informed me that the reason she was in such casual disarray was due the fact that it was the day of her birth. I duly congratulated her on surviving another year in modern American society, as I know that this is a very challenging thing to do successfully. She agreed that it was a monumental occasion.

I fell back into my shoes when the lady in front spoke again.

She remarked on the nature of lines, and how they never seem to move very fast. This was the reason she had sent her companion to the store to provide for her a cooling and refreshing beverage, and then she shared her personal confession of addiction to an energy-producing-attribute in many soft drinks.

I shared my commiseration, as did the lady standing behind me.

After a few runs about this pattern, of one remarking and others agreeing, it came to our mutual understanding that both me and the lady in back attended Western Oregon University. Oh, what coincidence that was!

We chatted most amicably on subjects relating to this for the rest of our time standing in line.

At one point in this conversation, the topic of Majors was broached.

She shared that she was majoring in Health Sciences, with the intention to go on to a very noble career worthy of admiration and aspiration, helping the poor, the misrepresented and very small children prone to asthma.

I returned, with great reticence, that I was majoring in English, literature to be precise.

This was met with a quizzical expression and a head tilt. She queried if this would involve instruction.

I returned, with more reticence, that it would not. It would simply involve English. Literature to be precise.

The lady in back squinted at me narrowly and pertly inquired as to what I intended to do with this degree.

I returned, with more reticence yet, that I did not have a singular clue as to what use I would put my degree in English, precisely in literature.

The lady in back then looked at me as if I had suddenly grown snakes for hair and pulled a bow out of thin air with the intention of shooting something pathetic, perhaps a bunny rabbit or an elderly person.

I promptly and skillfully changed the subject by blurting out how remarkable it was the line was moving, given the tendency of lines not to move. Thankfully the lady in back seemed to be of shallow capacity for dwelling on judgment of strangers, and happily accepted the change of subject.

Sadly, this is not the first time this has happened to me. In fact, this happens quite a lot when people find out what my major is. Like the lady in back, they look at me as if I am some horrible, wretched human being who must spend her free time roaming the countryside murdering things for choosing to major is such a pointless, unproductive subject. Or they believe that I should automatically choose to be an English teacher, and are surprised and rather affronted when I have no such goals. I know this. I can see the judgment in their eyes.

Usually, I allow them to retain this assumption about my person, only because it is actually half true.

I don’t at all major in English and I do indeed spend my free time roaming the countryside and murdering things. Er.

I actually do have an idea of what I want to do with my degree, only this would elevate me to mass-murderer of countryside dwellers in most people’s eyes because it’s a little, well, odd by most people’s standards.

I want to go into publishing. I want to go into Comic Book Publishing, to be precise.*

While the aspiration may not be the most…. Attainable, I certainly intend to pursue it. Comics need more love. Comics could lead to world peace. Comics are like oxygen, comics lift you up where you belong, all you need is comic books!

Granted I might be a tad biased, being a fan and all, and granted, I feel like a shallow, greedy, potentially mass murdering person for wanting to go into the entertainment industry and wasting my potential to do “good,” but…. I love it. It makes me happy? Can’t I have a job that will make me happy?

I’m sure a great deal of the developed world would claim that I cannot. Obviously it is a near rule of physics that one must hate one’s job, much like that rule about certain gentlemen being in want of a wife…

But I digress. My comical (haha) dream is what it is. My choice of major is what it is. My choices are unavoidably going to be judged as foolish, or even pointless, by a great deal of the general populace. Honestly? They can bite me. I will prove to the world that I will be better than a pizza.** I will become a publisher/editor/writer/gopher in the comic book industry!

*You just looked at me funny, didn’t you? Yeah, well—your chickens are gonna be the first to go, buddy!

** What is the difference between a pizza and an English major? A pizza can feed a family of four. What a funny joke…. Hahaha.

College: It is hard

So this college thing. It’s kinda hard.

I know, that’s a grossly obvious understatement. Honestly, though, there’s no other adjective that fits for the experience of higher education.

College isn’t hard just academically, either. Because it is. But more so, it is a trying, stressful, nerve-wracking and endlessly exhaustive social battle that is bound to leave one insecure and not a little psychologically disturbed. Not to say that it isn’t fun, God it can be fun, but for every moment of fun you manage to squeeze out of the machine, you have ten-fold that in hair-splitting anxiety. Of course, this assertion is debatable, but examine below these common collegial situations before making judgment.

The Dining Hall: This is a place in which every college student spends tremendous amounts of time. And honestly? The College Student has no choice in this matter. The College Student is poor, The College Student is busy and The College Student is going to gain ten pounds because the only place to eat (The Dining Hall) is a cesspit populated by deep-fryers, prepackaged and sugary snacks, a veritable fount of soft drinks, all topped off with a heaping dosage of social judgment and shame.

This is a rundown of the typical experience at The Dining Hall. First, after an extraordinarily long amount of time has passed between this and the last meal, The College Student has no choice to venture out from the Residence Hall/Classroom (See below). The College Student will then enter The Dining Hall and be presented with a vision of flashy and intimidating images of edibility. Said vision will present itself in three different groups. A) the Grill—or fast food, Burger King-esque fair, tastes wonderful at the moment, but  leaves a greasy lump of self-recrimination in its wake. B) TO-GO—or the easiest, quickest choice that allows for the least amount of terror, easiest escape and highest levels of guilt springing from social-cowardice and exorbitant sodium levels. Finally, C) the Salad Bar—full of half-wilted lettuce and inspiring of brief pride in oneself, then, after instilling a patina of self-worth on the college student, creating a target for hostile judgment from the Other College Students who assume that The College Student thinks they are better than The Others.

The college student will not escape without being subject to judgment and agonizing regret.

The Residence Hall: The Dorm. The place of sleeping, or of not sleeping.  The place that is full of Other College Students for The College Student to make merry and celebrate the awesome-ness of being College Students. It is also the location at which Sex Occurs. Also, Intoxication.  And copious amounts of Hilarity Ensuing (In certain situations, Good Grades may also be a common attribute of success).

For the College Student to fit in well at The Residence Hall Sex must Occur often, Intoxication must be at least bi-weekly and The College Student must take an active part in ensuring that Hilarity will indeed Ensue. Due to the fact that an individual managing all this is both impossible and hazardous to the College Students health, the successful completion of attaining these attributes is unlikely for the common College Student. While striving to attain them, The College Student will stretch the bounds of confidence, physical endurance and psychological soundness. None of which will be intact by graduation and/or dropping out. Hence, in any social situation, The College Student will be plagued by feelings in inadequacies for the remainder of their adult lives, spurred by the experience of college.

The Classroom: This is where The College Student will do his or her “learning.” The ratio between actual learning and perpetual social agony: About 3-to-1. For every three classes The College Student attends, only one class will be contain any actual learning. Please, do not mistake this for a criticism of the instructors; this unfortunate truth is due in most part to the efforts put forth by the students. The students will either waste time attempting to impress The Others with their rapier wit (i.e. when Sex Occurs, also Intoxication and the Ensuing of Hilarity) or they will attempt to assert their dominance over the Others by displaying the knowledge previously gained by prior educational experiences. This is otherwise known as “bragging.” Any Students that do not participate in this become invisible to The Others, and then spend the entirety of the term trying to not be quite so invisible, to little or no success. In any case, this phenomena causes a colossal waste of time that is spent by the instructor both mocking the College Students for their feeble efforts as acting grown-up (all in good fun, and thrilling to watch) and by the instructor correcting the false assumptions of prior educational experiences.

Due to the pathetic state of public education, a great amount of time also has to be spared in order to teaching how to think, and in promoting individual thought via class discussion. Only a grand total of four students will ever participate regularly in these discussions (the former braggers) and only another six will ever pay very close attention to them. The rest will spend the class period surfing the web and checking Facebook. Or posting blog entries.

While the euphoria of academia is undoubtedly indulged during the college experience, and the potential for forging friendships over various felonies is nigh limitless, the exertions to this end will leave The College Student a quivering mass of raw emotions and shattered shards of psyche. Not to fear! There is plenty of hope for The College Student thanks to the fortunate fact that most employers forget what actually goes on in college and assume that graduates have actually learned things in school and aren’t bundles of Nervous Breakdowns waiting to meltdown.