Nightmare of conscious

I had a nightmare last night; it was so awful it woke me up.
My dad announced suddenly that he had enrolled me in a youth seminar/camp for a few days, I was delighted and he said, “There is no time to lose, we must go now!” (Now that I think of it, why the heck was I so delighted?) So I stuffed some random necessities into a readily available duffle bag – notebook, pens, makeup-kit, math workbook (in case I get bored, I hate having nothing to do), purse, toothbrush kit and hat.
We arrived there and dad left. I went to my assigned tent and met my roommates. While we were chatting a distracting speakerphone kept blaring “Those who wish to phone may use our facilities now.” Then it was dinnertime and everyone was supposed to bring his or her own dinner, so everyone left to eat in the mess hall. I was like “What?” and double-checked my duffle, telling my new friends that I’d catch up later. Finally I went to look for the manager of the camp, who happened to be my junior high disciplinarian* and whom I recently discovered had been transferred to my new High school (There’s no escape!).
“Can I please call my mom because I didn’t bring any clothes to change, bathing objects or any dinner.”
“No, we aren’t allowing students to phone home anymore and play pretend house in our camp, in fact, we’re disconnecting the public phone lines tomorrow so you can’t phone home.”
“But they were using the phone earlier to call home!”
“They were allowed to call friends, not family.”
“What? So what should I do?”
Her eyes glazed over with a why-should-I-care-about-your-well-being look, “You didn’t bring any extra clothes?”
“No.” I said, smiling sweetly and apologetically, hoping against hope.
“Well, you’ll just have to wear this same outfit for three days, won’t you?”
My face fell with the anticipation of what my roommates would think of me grunging about three days sweaty and smelly. Not to mention what that would do to my allergic skin condition.
“Or, you could pack your bags tonight and wait in the front of the facility for you mom to pick you up,” I brightened a bit at this, “using psychic abilities to contact her. When you fail you may walk home.”
My face twisted into one of those unnatural expressions that sometimes denote constipation and mostly denote pain. “I’ll figure it out.” I said, trying to smile, and limping away.
I got back to my tent (which by some means seemed grungier and smaller than I remembered) and pulled out my duffle, then ventured towards a public phone the furthest corner from where lady disciplinarian was posted. Then I saw this narrow, twisted corridor behind a molding billboard that seemed to house some public phones and which would effectively conceal me from her sight, so I dove under it quickly and raced to the phones. My idea was, since the phones are to be disconnected tomorrow, they’re still usable to phone home now. Hopefully they won’t track me down, better yet I might convince mom to bring my stuff so I could still attend this extremely desirable seminar and nobody would discover this fiasco.
I tell you, it was a nightmare, I woke up at this point. Stress tends to hurt my sleep.
Interpretation of dream: My greatest fear is being unprepared for things which lie ahead (with my kind of imagination, can quickly see hell). I have a way harsher view of this woman than I previously believed, no wait, if she were as sweet as she seems, sometimes, why would she have attended a military school? I really must get to know her better and acknowledge her as a better human.
And there’s lacking certain mental skills that could give me better ideas than the one I had previous. I mean, how obvious could I be? If she were truly that evil and not pulling one on me she would have noted where I went after our talk.
Note to self: Never, ever go unprepared, for anything!
Nervous habit acquired: Check, check, double check!
Really, so that’s what’s bothering me, it took me two hours last night to fall asleep because I was worrying about going to school. Getting good grades, getting into med school, getting my diploma, getting a job….oooh, the list is endless.

*For those who don’t know what a disciplinarian is, it’s a term I made up for lack of proper vocabulary describing this special type of person we have here. I have never heard of them elsewhere, so forgive me for this liberal use. They are a role similar to a Matron in a private school; only most of them are guys. These people come out from military schools armed with the knowledge of handling refractory teenagers bent to destruct school ordinances – dyed hair, bullying, destroying property, too short skirts and fighting…etc. This particular disciplinarian I’m mentioning had interest in me because I was always tardy and she was always there to mark me down (or exonerate me, as her mood deemed). She claimed she had never seen a student who was so innocent and obedient in every way (well, I added the innocent) but was tardy so often. It’s not an honorable trait, I admit. Anyway, I’m curious how I’ve never heard this breed of people mentioned anywhere in English. I mean, they were a pretty powerful force in my junior high. They could nab you for things that weren’t in the school ordinances (like being cheeky to teachers, I swear I checked and it wasn’t there, we were suppose to be trusted to be respectful by our own volition because the teachers deserved it? Not a lot of kids in my district bought that) and punish you with whatever their imagination reckons appropriate. Those kids balancing buckets of water on their heads while immobilized with bent knees? Nasty.