My nightmares suck. I mean, my nightmares are not even nightmares—they are my reality ripped a part into tiny bits and pieces, circumventing around all the ingenious and frightening parts and skipping to the crappy and annoying ones: my mom yelling at me and asking me to clean the basement, my partner ogling at another girl whilst we are walking and holding hands, my brother constantly texting me to pick him up, and my dad wearing boxers with half of his belly flapping out watching Jeopardy. I call them nightmares because there is nothing more crucifying than having your own dreams turning into a streak of vapid monotony. Imagine: a guy wakes up every morning to go to work, he drives and drives and finally he sits in front of a monitor for eight hours, and then he drives and drives again. At last, the night settles in and so he sleeps and dreams about the same shit he just did when he was awake. What is more terrifying than that?