The Offboarding Here is Brutal

I'm new here. 

They've asked me to teach a class, and I'm happy to do it. I know some of these folks, the students just as much as the professors. Everybody's friendly. Everybody's polite. Everybody's welcoming. It seems like a good fit. 

I can't get into the building on my own, though. My fingerprint hasn't been programmed into the little readers that pop up at every doorway on campus. 

They've given me a workaround for this problem. I've been using it for a little while, and so far, I can get into every room I've tried except the ladies' room.

I suppose that's because it's a man's hand. If they'd given me a lady's hand, everything would be right as rain. I'd be able to use the restroom without somebody else letting me in, and it wouldn't take up nearly as much room in my bag. 

 * Disclaimer/Reminder: These are all dreams. Or rather, nightmares. I've never had a dream that wasn't a nightmare, or at least nightmarish.

Crossover

I'm back at work, and the inbox is overflowing. It's not my normal box. Somebody's replaced it while I wasn't looking with something bigger, but I'm sure I can get through this pile if I just focus. I can hear Tennille's voice saying, "This is what you get for leaving all your vacations to the last minute."

And I guess it is. She's not trying to be mean, but Tennille's no sugar-coater.

And there's a new guy. I think I should know him. Curly hair, glasses, wrinkly shirt, scruffy face. So familiar, yet so out of place. I am hyper-aware that he's there.

I don't have time to think about it though, because there's so much work to do, and there's a meeting in a few minutes and I have to make the rounds and say hi to everyone and give out hugs and let everybody know that I didn't really go anywhere for my vacation because I was at school the entire time, and there were so many events and meetings and ceremonies there, and I'm really happy to be back at work so I can relax a little.

There's cake and coffee in the meeting room.

And that guy--the scruffy one, the one I know from somewhere else--he's in the meeting room too. I want to say something to him. I want to find out why he's there instead of in the other place I know him from, but I never get the chance. People are filing in, and the room fills with chatter as everybody finds a seat so we can start the meeting, and my phone starts to sneeze. That's what it does when I have a text, you know. It sneezes a couple of times, and I wake up.

I wish I hadn't told him that.

I'd been dreaming about school every night, and everything was going wonderfully. The screaming teacher held her tongue. Hot food miraculously appeared in the cafeteria, with proper utensils available to all. The restroom didn't drift into the horizon, and once I was in there, the toilets seemed to be in working order. Homework was passed up; tests were aced; grades were made.

Yet.

And there's always a yet, because I can't have a normal dream for once. I can't have a happy-go-lucky, sun-shiney, butterflies and rainbows dream. No sir, not me. Something's always got to be twisted as fuck and somebody is always ripped away or chased away or devoured completely. Elevators open to flaming pits of fire and lava. Blood flows down window panes. Missiles whistle as they fly overhead.

A couple of days ago, I had lunch with ole Green Eyes. It was one of those rare days when nobody else was around to shift the conversation. Somehow we drifted into a more macabre topic-- the exes. Ole Green Eyes has custody of his two boys. His ex has been described to me as "a little on the trashy side," though it wasn't him who told me that. My ex has issues as well. We all have our stories.

I didn't intend to go into that topic. I didn't mean to reveal so much about my past or the things I'd been through, but I sat there with that glued on smile I usually reserve for irritating customers, and I told ole Green Eyes some things I have only ever revealed to my therapy group way back when I needed therapy. He said he'd never heard such things. I could tell he didn't want to believe me, but I have no reason to lie.

Later I went home and sat under the shower, crying until all the hot water was used up, and maybe a little bit longer.

When I slept that night, I dreamed about school. I'm getting all A's, you know. I settle for nothing less than a four point oh, not because it's easy, but because I want it so badly. The teachers were all smiles. My papers were covered with check pluses and happy faces. My classmates were all patting me on the back for all my hard work. I was content with my lot in life.

Until I tried to leave. I had forgotten I wasn't allowed to go outside. Dirty diapers were piling up in the corners of stairwells. The choking stench of neglect pushed us back into the hallway.I would have thrown the nasty things in the trashcan, but a trash can was a luxury we just couldn't afford. I tried to scoop them into my backpack, so the others wouldn't have to see them or smell them, but my backpack was already overflowing with the limp bodies of dead kittens.

He told me it was my fault. I shouldn't have ever fed that stray. I should have known she was pregnant. I should have known what would come of it. She had four little ones, just like me. They were delightful little balls of soft, clumsy fluff.

I guess it was my fault about the dog, too.