Garbage can punch dreams

I'm serious. My dreams as of late have been multi faceted concoctions of attraction and repulsion. Last night was no exception. Raucaus parties in the woods cost me my new watch, two cats, and upon wake up on the floor of my mother's house, hung over, mostly naked and barely alive, Tony is missing in the woods. "He went out for a walk" my mother says, standing in the middle of our dirt road in a white robe, eyes wide with fear, helicopters and search teams swarming around us. "We knew something was wrong when his water bottle washed up on to the road. The cats followed you and your friends into the woods and never returned Erika. You were supposed to be helping. Did you fall off the waterfall already?" The danger was the heat was rolling in, and the likelihood of us never finding him was becoming a clear reality. However, I had been doing drugs and had already fallen off the waterfall that needed to be used in some way to find him. I transported my memory through the forest that was behind the pasture tree line, past the parts that I used to sneak away to as a child, looking for Tony and looking for the gray and black cat. I couldn't find him. I couldn't find the cats, I couldn't sense them in the darkness. We were worried about him being shot by nervous, unnecessary militia men, Tony didn't have anything bright to distinguish himself as human, and that was the fear. Mom proclaimed "we didn't think he needed to be illuminated."

Tony stumbled back in the arms of our dear friend Jim, covered in barnacles and dust. The cats and my shiny new watch that could have been used to help him were no where to be found, and my memory of the entire night was blacked out by shame. Mom looked at me and said "Erika your inability to scale our troubles is a terrible thing. The cats were counting on you." The grass in the pasture rolled like waves and deposited trash on the road. I recognized styrofoam pieces from Tamale House Migas, and other refuse that was obviously mine. I couldn't clean it up because the garbage can would just blow up again.
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The only thing worse than dreaming about work in my opinion, is my subconscious being overly obvious and basically one big cliche. Yes, thank you reptile brain.....I get it. Can I dream about flying and miniature ponies tonight please? Not the miniature ponies that bit me over and over again like you gave me last week. I'd like to not explore the balance in the universe all of the time. Sometimes I like more fluff, and less garbage can punch.