Friday, April 21

File under: 'Dreams I'd Like Never To Have Again'

All this rape and brutality talk lately has me on edge. Like Aunt B said, things are fucked up between the sexes. And she's not talking about in a Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus kind of way.

Last night, right before bed, I was watching the news (perhaps a bad move on my part). I can't even remember what I saw, but I remember that it hurt, and it made me despair about the day when women might catch a fucking break and have their bodily autonomy recognized by their governments and peers.

And then, as I slept, my brain played out some kind of fucked-up power-struggle fantasy:

Phil is driving some kind of SUV vehicle with a large, covered, open area in the back. I'm riding shotgun. It's nighttime and we're in an unfamiliar rural area leaving an event of some sort. We're driving along, talking, and we hear some strange noises coming from the back of the vehicle. I take something small but substantial and toss it into the back of the vehicle. A man with neck-length, shaggy, reddish hair and a reddish goatee-mustache combo sits straight up and looks at me. I've never seen this dude before and he's stowing away in the back of our truck and we are instantly frightened. I'm not sure how, but I manage to tackle this guy right off and get him in a headlock so we can make him talk about what the hell he's doing hiding in our truck. I feel so threatened that I keep tightening my grip around his neck until his jaw cracks, thin and crisply like chicken bones, under the pressure.

The guy passes out from the pain (or maybe he dies, I'm not sure) and I shove him out the door and onto the side of the road. We speed off and I immediately call 911 to tell them about what happened so they can help the guy if he needs it. But they won't answer the phone. I keep calling, they keep not answering. And Phil and I ride through the rural night, feeling a mix of triumph and guilt. But mostly anxiety.


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