I was on my computer talking to some chick I barely knew. I can't remember the conversation, but it was a nice chat. She was surprisingly friendly. But the chat box thing had a mind of its own, and oftentimes typed for me as the conversation went on. I told her this, and she explained that she was talking to a few others as she was talking to me. Two video chat windows popped up next to the chat box and showed girls laughing and typing. I covered my webcam with my thumb and left the conversation.
I entered some sort of English or speech class, and went around class in search for a place to sit. I saw some relatively familiar and unfamiliar people seated at a round table (one in particular whom I will now call Greasy Drickhead). I opted to sit alone at a table near the front of the class. The teacher started talking to the students. He lounged on the table I sat at (picture Rose posing for Jack's drawing in that iconic scene from Titanic) - right in front of me - bulge visible through his green brief underwear. I turned my head away and saw the people I recognized behind me. In response to this, they scolded, hassled, and made fun of the teacher, who snapped back at them with furious insults.
The teacher got up and went on with other business. I moved to the round table with the familiar people for comfort. Greasy Drickhead proceeded tell me I'll be alone forever if I don't sit with them and join their little clique. Everyone else in the group looked like dorks. To truly be part of the group, they told me I would have to do some messed up, initiative stunt . When they told me what it was I would have to do, the last mililiter of interest left in me evaporated and was replaced with apathy. I'd rather not elaborate on what it was that they requiredand me to do, and even now I'm comfortable being a loner. Suddenly, an unfamiliar nerdy chick picked up a small electric razor and started touching up my hair. "What are you doing? Stop." She stopped halfway through making the edges even. I looked in a random mirror and see how bad it was. My skin was much lighter under the hair shaved off. Greasy Drickhead took the razor and finished the job, but continued shaving closer to my face for some reason (I told him to stop; he said something about all the hair on my face, and continued). I was utterly confused, and inexplicably, when he was finished, I resembled some the wolf-man. I pushed him away from me and I pulled up my hood and out of nowhere, my once-trademark long, curly hair appeared around my face & in front of my eyes. I looked normal again. I felt comfortable and safe, like an egg in a bird's nest - if eggs themselves were outwardly aware of the comfort of a soft bird's nest, anyway.
An activity of some sort began. Everyone grouped up. Still, I was stuck with Greasy Drickhead. The Teacher walked up to us and made a snide, insulting remark unto Drickhead. Greasy immediately responded by going on a tirade in which he revealed his knowledge of this teacher's murderous tendencies (I had been watching crime shows lately, and hung on every word). The teacher was now completely silent, and had a shocked expression on his face.
They went on insulting and threatening as I left that area to find another familiar face, someone who calls himself the Baby Jesus. We said hello and he talked to me as if he were worried about how I was doing; the Baby Jesus always cared. A waif caked in sparkly makeup and lacy, dollish clothes appeared (she was short, pale, platinum-blonde and completely expressionless). She started passive-aggressively bumping me, kicking me, and stepping on my feet. At first it was a bit awkward and I tried to just edge away. But she didn't quit, so I got annoyed and pushed her a few times. Her expressionless face continued to show an eerie lack of emotion. I pushed her hard enough to knock her down, and then proceeded to sit on her. The Baby Jesus objected and said I shouldn't do that. I moved back & looked down at the girl, emotionless and blank. Whatever. I let her go, and she wobbled off.
I was greeted in my house by a cat. The particular cat my cat, Spanky. He had been long dead and buried in the yard. He greeted me with a few eager meows, as if he hadn't seen me in a while. I bent down to pet him, and my eyes welled up with tears. I couldn’t touch him. He knew I was crying, and sniffed at my eyes as if confused. He turned his attention away and began to fade. I cried harder.
I woke up from that uncanny dream feeling majorly depressed.