I was living with my mother again and I was sleeping in a tiny room with a tiny bathroom. The rest of the house was huge, and there were several other rooms and I wanted to go stay in the other one that had more windows, a bigger bed and a bigger more luxurious bathroom.

She said no, I had to stay in the small room. I think that had something to do with the fact that for a year I had to sleep in a small, 4.5 foot ceiling basement that was unfinished and had a sloping floor.

Then I was hearing news reports about a burgler that was breaking into houses, killing the residents and then stealing their things. Not just killing them, but killing them in brutal, twisted manners.

There was a parade in our little seaside town and I was on a bus, but our seaside town was Marpole, where I live, though where I live is not be the water in real life.

Anyway. I met a man. He was HUGE. Very tall, very muscular, a strong man, which is weird because I don't find that attractive at all. He and I were dating, and were in love and I lived in fear of being broken into a killed by this burgler. Somehow I found that this big man I was with was the burglar, one and the same. But he didn't do it anymore, he didn't kill anymore but had become gentle and all that. He had lifted me up onto his shoulders and carried me through tall dry grass.

I remember feeling his shoulders and thinking, this man has killed people. What do I tell my family about him? What if they find out? How do I make them see he's changed. What if he hasn't? What if he kills me?

I woke up feeling very sad and confused and afraid. I wonder where that came from.