Rage

I’m traveling in some combination of New York City and Paris. I’m going through stores, maybe shopping malls, and streets. It’s a rich landscape.I keep meeting friends/acquaintances/former classmates. Mom is traveling with me, and it turns out she had bought me shirts with my college name on them. I figure this out when I open the bag I’m carrying to look for a clean shirt— as, up until then, I had been walking around without a shirt on.At one point, we’re going to go back to our hotel, and I explain to her how we can take the subway. She doesn’t want to. She thinks the train will be like Amtrak, and she doesn’t want to smell the fumes. I explain that this train runs on electricity, so there won’t be those fumes, and I keep telling her how easy it is— and I want to do it. But for some reason, she keeps refusing/brushing off the idea. In the end, I wind up walking all the way to the hotel on my own.When I arrive, perhaps in the driveway, my mom is there.So is my dad.I threaten him. I’m ready to fight. And I think he’s ready to fight me back. --Back up.I guess I’m still living with my parents. I want so badly to move away, but I don’t have the money. So, I’m stuck with my dad.I’m viciously mad at him. EXTREMELY, ENORMOUSLY angry! I want to fight him. I want to kick the sh-- out of him.At some point, I’m in the kitchen of our apartment (the apartment in which I grew up). I think he comes home, and when he does, rage still grips me. He comes towards me in the kitchen and takes a big knife in his hand. Reaching me, he starts to carve something in my arm …or maybe my stomach. It looks like words, maybe?...When he tries for it a second time, I start punching at him. Swinging, punching, punching!!!I punch the wall next to my bed.It wakes me.I lie there with a stinging feeling in one or two fingers. Eventually, I look to see that two of my fingers are bleeding (a little). I go rinse off the blood, put on small bandages— and feel the seriousness of all this sink in.