In last night’s nightmare, I was behind Janine and another woman. We were on our backs inside a tiny tunnel, the ceiling of which was just inches above my face. The two of them were riding on their backs on a contraption that seemed like a flat-bed rail car; it glided along on what seemed like narrow train tracks. They seemed to have the ability to power it forward. I, on the other hand, was inching along on my own power, scooting along the tracks. As they glided away from me, the light from their rail car disappeared from my view, leaving me in darkness. I was claustrophobic and I panicked that I might never be able to catch up to them. At some point, in the dream and out, I was making a lot of noise; Janine shook me to awaken me.
Somewhere else in the dream, before the tunnel experience, I suppose, another woman (perhaps the same one)—whose appearance was Asian but whose voice was middle American—assured me everything would be fine. I was nervous, but I don’t know about what. It was nothing like the terrifying experience in the tunnel, though.
Dreams like that make sleep seem like punishment.