A lot of my anxiety dreams involve having to get from one place to another in a very complicated setting, such as an airport with multiple terminals and concourses that go every which way (or turn into train stations). Then there are the cityscapes where driving through a complex grid suddenly finds me climbing down a staircase (carrying my now-small car) or lost in Ginger's parking garage.

I haven't flown anything in almost twenty years, but I still have anxiety dreams involving obstacles on approach and on the runway, wires overhead when I'm trying to take off, and obstacles off the departure end. Traffic is never the problem, it's always towers, buildings, trees, wires, construction, potholes, pits -- and they keep changing.

Last night my dream involved 2 Catholic Churches in my home town (there is only one) and getting involved with a garden club/weird cult with robes that was stealing plants. Eddie Murphy was also part of the gang, but he left in disgust because the white people in the club could outvote the white people.

And I, as vengeance, had a Nazi dream. We were the Underground, and I was with Colin and other strangers, helping take care of his son. There were adventures, from which I escaped implausibly, but then I got captured. I was in the middle of being humiliated naked with Anthony Anderson, and I looked into the next room, and Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki were there, being afforded some amount of freedom.

I was scheduled to be tortured by the leader, so I gave my best puppydog face to Jared, until he pulled Jensen over to whisper to him, and I awoke with a slam.

Now I just feel depressed about real world atrocities, and can't calm down.

Which tidily matches the ones where I'm trying to wake up and can't.

Ugh, I hate those.

The ceiling in my bathroom has a leak. I am entirely unprepared for dealing with this.

That sensei is no doubt an accomplished private investigator in his own right, as he is quite the dick.

I love Billy's brain.

I think I have a sick. Icky throat, major lethargy, and stuffy nose. Blech. I don't have time for this.

After quite a while without any anxiety dreams, I woke up three hours ago from a dream in which I was at a writers' workshop and Joss Whedon had to tell one of his minions to request (gently) that I not sit at his lunch table, as important people were going to discuss important things. I walked away in a Charlie Brown slouch, sobbing pathetically, and that's when I woke up. Thanks, brain.

They probably just wanted to talk without you there because they're working on a surprise show about how awesome you are.