When I was young, I had this recurring dream. I suppose it was actually more of a nightmare. I was in a yellow kitchen that I had never seen before with a fluorescent light that constantly flickered above my head. I could tell that what I was seeing wasn’t real even though I was asleep. The tiles on the floor were white, old and stale. Everything seemed huge, as it did when I was little. A family member of mine walked into the doorway of the kitchen and looked at me. Soon, my entire extended family was around me in a horseshoe formation. They grew larger and I grew smaller. I was being backed up against the refrigerator in the corner of the room. The closer to me they got, the longer and more outrageous the devil horns on top of their heads grew. Their gnarled hands reached out towards me. I kept trying to sprout horns out of the top of my head but I never could. I’d always wake up when their hands were just about to reach me. Years later, I’d be asked by my Mother if I thought I needed therapy. Politely, I declined.