Worst. Nightmare. Ever.

20MAR2022; 0638, SUN



"Beware the ides of march." Advice that I'd more or less adhered to religiously.



This year tho? Not so much; haha.



Seriously, I'm not sure if it was because of the full moon, bad karma, and/or my counterintuitive sleeping position. Not sure who told me that it was an ideal idea to completely disregard the immediately preceding foreboding...



Regardless, this was a particularly hellish experience. Between the graphicness; the fact that it seemed to be so lengthy, time wise; and even down to the obscure details, which were mostly accurate. "[Expletive] me, right??"



That's a colloquialism popularized by none other than the living legend, Jonah Hill; and his character in 2007's classic film, "Superbad". How ironic that the first time I saw the film, I was in the process of graduating from OSUT (One Station Unit Training) at the U.S. Army's "Home of the Infantry"; aka Ft. Benning, Georgia.



While I was on "Sand Hill", I learned a lot about firearms safety; rendering first aid; tactical operations; physical fitness; etc. Suffice it to say that whenever I meet someone else who graduated from that place, I feel an immediate connection.



I even hang my sky blue Infantryman's cord, from our Class A's and/or Army Green Service Uniforms (AGSUs), on my rear view mirror; regardless of whomever pulls me over, criticizes it, and/or accompanies. Before I forget: Praise be the Heavens that the Army is switching back to the Greens, from the incredibly (IMHO [In My Humble Opinion]) illogical Dress Blues.



Kudos to the general who signed off on that decision. Speaking of U.S. Army officers and my fellow Grunts tho: My Lovely Lady and I are currently celebrating our one year anniversary weekend in the home of a random, retired Special Forces (SF [aka Green Beret]) colonel.



The permitted check in time was no earlier than 1700 (5 PM); and we must've been pushing 2000 (8 PM) when we finally walked into the Bossman, as well as his wonderful wife's home last night. They've been nothing but kind, courteous, and copacetic to us.



In any event, I finally went back out to my truck, to grab my assault pack (or overnight bag); my severely worn, U.S. Army issued laptop bag; our nonalcoholic bubbly (re: champagne without the possibility of drunkenness); along with a few other personal belongings.



Before I could make it out the door, the coolest host couple and I struck up one of trillest convos I've had in a NY minute. We briefly discussed everything from religion and romantic relationships, to my time in the service, as well as that of the "full bird" (re: compare Lt. Col's rank insignia to that of a Colonel's).



Based on the facts of the matter, there's little to no doubt that I was being tested, to see if I had really earned the beret that I now rock frequently these days; or if I was just a punk-ass sweetie pie, "stealing valor". Considering as I have fresh braids (still impermissible for currently serving men), and had my unit's crest on my beret: No complaints from me there; and I'd be disappointed with anything less.



When my Main Squeeze (re: my girlfriend) and I decided that staying awake was too burdensome for the evening, it must've been roughly 2215 (10:15 PM). We were startled awake a couple hours later by what unmistakably sounded like someone attempting to open our locked door.



Naturally, I grab my tactical pen; equipped with a flashlight/strobe light combo on one end, and a selfdefense tip on the other. After ensuring that no one was outside of our door, nor hiding nearby, I went back inside the room to put on my pants, shoes, and jacket.



The pants had my brand new (and completely legal) switchblade in them. The jacket was to keep me warm while I reconned the perimeter of the home.



The shoes, for kicking potential intruders/threats as hard as I can, in addition to walking on asphalt, without seriously damaging my feet. Full disclosure: I'm most definitely rusty at clearing rooms/buildings.



Suffice it to say that I never found whomever turned on the kitchen light when I cleared around my room, immediately after the ostensible attempted attack on my Queen and I. I'll chalk it up to being too scared to check the garage/basement of a home where I know that I'm strictly a commercial guest.



Last little bit of setting the scene: I grabbed a bunch of water, my backup knife, and then relocked my truck before clearing most of the house one more time. I went back to sleep with my decoy phone and an open bottle of water on the nightstand; as well as my jeans/knives on these hungry hippo hips of mine.



I awoke from the nightmare approx six hours later rethinking almost every decision that led me up to this point; wherein I was convinced sleep is a cruel joke played on humanity. Now I see why rappers hate resting so much; haha!



On the real tho: In this Godforsaken dream, I was a victim in one of the most impossibly heinous school shootings of all time. This was a team of highly skilled professionals; seemingly hunting down civvies (civilians) at random.



Not only did they know door breaching and room clearing techniques; but there was obviously some sort of similarity between those who were targeted at this school in which I was attending, in a dream void of positivity. Even the supposed blessing of me mysteriously finding one of the assailants weapons was an inhumane hilarity; with the laugh on me.



No sooner than I check this SMG (submachine gun [or sub]), for vital ammo, do I realize that it was merely a ploy to get my hopes up; right before my murder. Of course, that's where I arose quickly enough to guarantee that my "Keeper" would be asking me what the hell was going on; again.



I told her it was just a nightmare, and that she need not worry. Conversely, all I could manage to do was worry.



Was this some sort of premonition? Who were the targets of the masked gunmen in my dream?



How did they undeniably have so much training? How did they know that I had military training too?



Why was no one else in the school armed, or attempting to repel the attackers? Whole time, and on everything that I Love: Just several more questions regarding my life that I never really wanna know the answers to...



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Edit: I somehow neglected to mention that my primary hand is currently recovering and visually damaged; when I don't wear a tactical glove over it. Also, this is my first nightmare in an extremely extended period of time.



Even more, I've had very few nightmares in my adult life; after sticking to the same sleep position that I happened to abandon last night. That's in spite of the fact that I did a tour of duty in Iraq about a decade or so ago.



As one of my sergeants and the former sniper section leader would remind us from time to time: "Consistency is the key to accuracy." Word to the wise...

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