I had nightmares this morning. I’ve been awake for 90 minutes, I’m at a coffee shop, but they still feel real.

My friend Scott was there, driving a giant truck. He arrived to my parents house, where I was living. It was his job to sell the house. He’s a realtor.

Somehow, a giant snake the size of a dragon, the length of a football field, with the head of a python, was after me. Scott was helping me get away. We ran through the garage, into a closet-like entry into the house. We held the double doors shut as best we could while the snake plunged its head through the opening. We were panicked. Terror filled my body. It was an emergency.

Everytime the snake used his violent determination to make space between the doors, we scrambled for locks and wood pieces to jam in the weak spots. We were children with feeble limbs trying to outwit the strength of a full-grown reptile with decades of hunting experience.

I escaped into another hallway and locked the door behind me, leaving Scott to manage the serpent-split doors while I sought help. Scott was bigger and stronger than me. He was like an older brother. He was my older brother.

In the end, I just kept exiting one hallway into another, meticulously locking and unlocking doors as I went. It was as if I was burrowing a tunnel to nowhere. I was a rabbit trying to escape a hungry monster by excavating the earth, one deadbolt at a time. There was no end. The ground goes on forever. There are always more doors.

I woke up that way - in the chase.

Now that I’m awake, I have to keep reminding myself I’m not being chased today. I’m not in danger. The “shoulds” aren’t gonna come get me and rip me to shreds. There’s nothing to survive. I’m out of the house. The serpent is dead.