We go to a party and it's one we've been going to every year, and I know what to expect, but this time they let me have the adult portion. However, it takes so long to prepare that the rest of my party go on ahead and I can't find them. But I do find one of them, by which time I've misplaced that portion (some sort of dumpling, and some vegetables and a little bottle of sake). We get to talking, and I go:
Me: Can we stop by the [word for meat]? I'm getting hungry.
Him: Sure. *starts telling me about the various options*
Me: But I don't have the plate. I lost it somewhere.
Him: [don't remember] *starts loading up on a white bag*
Me: I don't have anything to put it on.
Him: *sort of ignoring me still* Is there something traditional to do if you lose it?
Me: Like calling on spirits or forgoing the rest of the meal?
At which point he turns on me with the knife. Specifically, he presses it into my shoulder until it cuts through the skin and then waves it around my face and throat, asking me if I want to be kicked out, and if I think Soviet Russia will treat me any better than he is.
At which point I wake up, because I've gotten good at that.
I HATE nightmares. I really, really hate them. My father would never do that to me.
Dammit, why can't I remember some good dreams for once?
Me: Can we stop by the [word for meat]? I'm getting hungry.
Him: Sure. *starts telling me about the various options*
Me: But I don't have the plate. I lost it somewhere.
Him: [don't remember] *starts loading up on a white bag*
Me: I don't have anything to put it on.
Him: *sort of ignoring me still* Is there something traditional to do if you lose it?
Me: Like calling on spirits or forgoing the rest of the meal?
At which point he turns on me with the knife. Specifically, he presses it into my shoulder until it cuts through the skin and then waves it around my face and throat, asking me if I want to be kicked out, and if I think Soviet Russia will treat me any better than he is.
At which point I wake up, because I've gotten good at that.
I HATE nightmares. I really, really hate them. My father would never do that to me.
Dammit, why can't I remember some good dreams for once?