It starts off with me being late to work, and when I get there I can't seem to figure out how to punch in because something is wrong with the time clock. I ask my boss for help, he shows me how repeatedly, but it just doesn't work for me. For some reason my grandmother, who is deceased, suddenly shows up to visit me at work, but I still can't punch in. My back starts killing me, at which point I wake up to realize I'm lying in a very uncomfortable position. I quickly fall back asleep, but things take a very strange turn. In the dream, I wake up in a bathroom feeling very out of it, maybe high, drunk, or some combination. I'm surrounded by neon puddles of who knows what, and the entire scene has the color pallette of a Lisa Frank drawing. The people around me seem to know me, but I don't remember them. I think they're smiling at me like I've done something embarrassing, but then I realize it's more the smile of having a secret together, like we've all been doing unspeakable things together. I have flashes between being with my grandmother in a hotel room, feeling achey and disoriented and then back to waking up with these people who know me from the bathroom, but we're in various places, a house, an apartment, someone's front yard. The scenes are becoming increasingly sexual with the others in various states of undress and me naked and engaging in sex acts with them, various toys and tools, even medieval torture implements laying about. At this point I'm telling myself to wake up because I know it has to be a dream, but I keep waking up with these people. The scenes become violent, but still sexual. There's blood, but I realize I'm the only one injured. These people seem to respect or revere me in some strange way, and I realize that I'm simultaneously some kind of leader and sacrifice in a strange, sadomasochistic cult. I scream for my boyfriend who is sleeping beside me, and while I don't wake up, he is there with me in the dream, comforting me. But something seems wrong. I soon realize that he is the true mastermind behind this cult, that these people are merely subjects in the background of a twisted art peice. In my dream, he is a photographer, and he uses me and the others to set up these scenes to photograph. He has been drugging me with large doses of acid and ex along with who knows what else to keep me in a state of constant confusion, memory loss, and lowered inhibitions. I finally wake up very dazed and weeping.