An old dream

In my dream, there was a party at my house. It was my house, but it was also my dream house. There were a lot of people, but not too many. Everyone was pretty jolly, me too, but I was also nervous, like I get at parties, until my ex-GF showed up. (This is impossible. She would never come to this house again, nor would I invite her.) I think I was a little scared to talk to her, but she smiled at me and we chatted a bit. I asked her if she'd like to take a walk with me later on so we could chat. She agreed. This is when things started to get out of hand. More people showed up, with more booze, and took over every square inch of the house. I started to get very uncomfortable, very scared. I roamed the house for a bit, acting the role of the party police--"Hey, watch that beer, don't spill it." "Careful, this is my living room floor where you're throwing your cigarette butts." I was policing the party, but I was really looking for her. I really wanted to get away from the party, but I wanted so much more to take that walk with her. I was near tears, in fact, I started crying. I found one of my roommates, in fact it was both of them combined into one, as your dreams will do, and I broke down. Sobbing, I told her I really didn't want this many people in the house and that I was leaving. What I didn't tell her was that if I could have found the ex, I'd have no reason to cry, which was exactly how I felt. I left the party, broken, sobbing. I don't really know where I went, can't remember, maybe it's not important. When I left, I was sad. When I came back, I was angry. As soon as I arrived back at the house, I started kicking everyone out. Some were strangers, some were friends, some very good friends, didn't matter, party's over, get the fuck out. I kicked a few people, shoved a few more. They tried to talk to me, but I wouldn't hear it. Still, I was trying to find her, because if I could find her, I'd have no reason to be upset. I never found her. I went room to room, breaking up the party; this took a long time because in my dream house there are many mansions. When I got to my bedroom, the door was closed, but I could hear yelling, music, clinking bottles, etc., and I got even more enraged. I opened the door just as someone in my room dumped something out of a huge bucket onto someone else's head, flooding my room with something, probably beer. And Mary wasn't in there. I went nuts. I physically grabbed each person in there and threw them out, except the guy who dumped the bucket. I beat him senseless, with no sense of victory or justice, only pain and loss and anger. After everyone had left, I surveyed the destruction. My room was trashed. My bed was full of dirty plates, beer bottles, cigarette butts; my sheets and comforter were soaked in booze.

Of course I never found her. I don't know how long the dream lasted after that, but I was like Burgess Meredith in that old Twilight Zone episode, wandering, just part of a destroyed landscape, looking for the One That Got Away.