My mechanic steals my jewelry.

I noticed my broken necklace at the bottom of a paper bag.

"I should get this fixed," I said.

So I called the number for a jewelry repairman who turned out to be the same guy who changes the oil in my car. He showed up and spent some time alone with the necklace in another room. He got quiet, so I got concerned. I walked into that room to check on him.

Empty.

The guy and my necklace were gone. He stole it.

I was livid.

"You can get another necklace," somebody told me.

"I didn't even like that necklace," I said. "It isn't what's missing that bothers me. I'm mad because somebody stole from me."

Then, I woke up.

- - - -

Had this dream last night.

I have to take the pain.

In a seat at a salon with a plain white floor, I watched a woman prepare a thick needle with thick, black thread.

She was to sew half my face to the face of a woman who had lost function in half of her's. After she numbed the functional side of the other woman's face, she leaned toward my face to start sewing.

"HEY." I said. "How come you numbed her face but you aren't numbing mine?"

She paused.

"I can't," she said. "And it will sting, but just a little!"

And then I woke up.

- - - -

Omg. Seriously, brain? I had this dream last night.

I get chased by the living dead.

After an office party, I packed up to hit the road for the day. On my way out, I realized I left a stack of books inside the building. I went back inside to retrieve them.

The office was empty, except for one editor, me and a room full of Halloween costumes, cardboard cut-outs of characters from horror flicks and a set of tables covered with medieval weaponry. While the editor and I tried to fit all my books into a bag, a guy and a girl walked in -- both blonde.

"I'd like to subscribe to the newspaper," one of them said.

"I'm sorry, but no one is here right now who can help you with that," I said. "So you'll have to call or come back tomorrow, earlier in the day."

The two weren't satisfied by my answer, but they didn't argue. Instead, they took the liberty of walking further into the building to explore, convinced I was lying to them.

"Seriously," I said. "No one here can help you subscribe to the paper."

Neither acknowledged me. I followed them, reminding them all the while that there was no one there who could help them. While they explored, their heads of hair turned black and so did their clothes. We passed a table of cakes, left over from the party. The couple dug in with their hands before meandering into the room full of Halloween and weapons. Finally, the couple left. I walked home after that.

While I walked, I passed the scene of a car accident. Out the broken window of an overturned yellow Honda Civic crawled the now-dark haired girl who had earlier refused to leave my office. Only now, she was dead. And a zombie. Horrified, I hurried home. On the way, I found I was being followed by a pair of guys, one of whom I recognized:

the now-dark haired guy who'd earlier refused to leave my office.

Clearly, I thought, he holds me responsible for the death and zombification of his girlfriend. By the time I walked up to my house, the guys were close behind me, taunting me.

"You won't win this fight, you know. You may as well quit!"

But I walked into the entry through a screen door, and into the house through the front door and locked it behind me. Inside, I told my mom about all that had happened.

"Who is trying to harm my twins?!" she asked, in a fit of fear. I didn't, however, have time to ask her whether it's true that I have a twin of whom I'm unaware. I ran to the front door and swung it open upon realizing I'd locked my dog outside. The dog, brown and scruffy, stood barking at the guys from behind the screen door.

"Rocky," I said to him. "Get in the house!"

He didn't even notice.

"Rocky! ... Wait," I said. "That's not your name. Rocky! Wait. That isn't your name. What is your name?!"

The clock is ticking, I thought, watching the guys find a way to break in through the screen. What is my dog's name? It hit me.

"Ninja!" I shouted. "Get in the house!"

Ninja ran inside.

But for me, it was too late. I froze, terrified and face to face with the guys who had followed me home.

"Mom!" I mouthed. No voice. I tried again. "Mom!" I whispered. No good, as she couldn't hear me. Finally, I found my voice. "Mom!" I yelled.

Then, I woke up.

- - - -

I originally documented this dream upon waking myself up by yelling "Mom" in my sleep at 5:15 a.m. on June 19, 2009. I have never had a dog named Ninja.

Get ready.

While I walked the hall, my shoes clicked on the off-white terazzo floors and echoed off the cream colored walls. The lights were so bright there weren't shadows. My dad, my brother and I turned to the right, where a crowd of empty chairs in an otherwise empty room waited for us. We sat on three in the front row and faced a burlap curtain that covered a wall.

The curtain opened, exposing a window almost the size of the wall it interrupted, and revealed the outside: the surface of the moon. And there, in space suits, stood my mom and an otherwise anonymous Jamaican man.

Then, I woke up.

It was morning, sometime in 1988. I was hysterical (You know you'd cry if you were three and your mom were on the moon!) until my mom reminded me: it was just a dream. That, friends, was just the beginning. Because in all the years since, I've had the strangest, most vivid and unforgettable dreams that I've decided it's time to share with the world via this blog.

Get ready!