I often say that I don't really have nightmares. I have lots of dreams where strange and unpleasant things happen, but I'm usually very emotionally detached from what's going on while the dream is happening. Last night's dream of viewing an increasingly graphic series of crime scene photos was a genuine wake-up-with-your-heart-pounding, consider-never-sleeping-again nightmare.
In contrast, the dream where I had to supervise a bunch of toddlers playing with a tiny baby pangolin, the dream where I had to engage a 20-foot-tall demon in unarmed combat for a reality TV show, and the hypnagogic hallucination of a tall grey-cloaked figure looming by the side of my bed were relatively par for the course. Though I wouldn't normally expect all three on the same night.
What the hell, subconscious? Except for one rather important meeting that I had earlier this morning, it's not even like I have a lot to be anxious about.
Still, it beats that one where you suddenly realize that you forgot to take an exam and aren't wearing pants.