[Disgruntled Intern]

I have a few reoccuring dreams I'll share with you.

The first, and most common, goes like this:

I'm walking down our street, when a homeless man asks if I have any food to spare. I go for my wallet, and he more or less karate chops my wrist, and says "No, stupid, I said food! Not money!"
So, like any good beaver would, I call my mom,
[Oh yeah, I forgot to mention...in this dream, I'm a beaver.]
and she strolls out from some bushes toting a bucket of fried chicken. She doesn't seem to see me, and trips over my tail. All the while, the homeless man has seemingly entered a state of suspended animation, apparently from the lack of food. As my mom lays on the sidewalk, sprawled out and cursing...a chicken breast begins to ring like a cell phone. She answers it, and it turns out to be for me. As I hold the phone/chicken breast to my ear, the homeless man leaps through the air and eats the chicken-phone. The rest of the phone conversation is carried out by me placing my ear to his stomach, and shouting my response down his throat. I can never remember who it is on the phone, although I know it is a dead relative. After the conversation is over, the man tells me I've just won the lottery, and promptly shoots me in the testicles.
I then wake up.

I have that dream about twice a month.


The next dream is actually quite disturbing, and luckily enough is not as frequent. In the dream, my father's cancer comes back, and kills him within a matter of minutes. His death is very painful, and I often wake up with tears running down my face.
The funeral is an open casket service, and for whatever reason, I sneak in a few hours ahead of time, and decapitate his corpse. I then keep his head in my pillow case, so I can talk to it at night when I can't sleep. I also keep pennies in his mouth. The rest of the dream is suspenseful, as I managed to leave a few of my hairs on my father's corpse when I decapitated him. At the end, I can't find his head...and I'm rather depressed because of it. As I sit, sobbing, on my bed...my closet door is hurled from it's hinges, and my fathers head is levitating inside. His eyes cast out a dead, white light, and he laughs. He then blames me for his death.

Then I wake up, and hurl my pillow across the room. I guess it's because in my dream, i kept his head in my pillowcase, and when I wake up, I can still hear his words. I have this dream about every three months.