What would Freud say?

So I'm standing in the middle of the Emergency Department of Disneyworld, holding a pot of unidentifiable liquid and three pregnancy test kits. I'm dipping the tests into the liquid the wrong way (yes, there is a wrong way to do a pregnancy test), and they all turn out positive.

Then I go outside and meet up with my two ex-boyfriends, and we line up for the trams to get into Disneyworld. One of my ex-boyfriends starts sweating and clutching his stomach, and then collapses to the floor. I pull off his shirt to examine his stomach and he's got a rip-roaring appendicitis. This is odd, because there is a scar on his stomach that clearly says he's had his appendix removed already. But the ambulance comes anyway and takes him away.

Meanwhile, the other ex-boyfriend is sulking because 5 hours have gone by and we've missed all the Disneyworld trams, and our entrance tickets have already been stamped. So I explain our situation to the concierge at the tram-desk, who issues us with new tickets, and then we take a taxi to our hotel, where I spend the rest of the day trying to stop a self-harming woman from shoving her hand into a blender.

Then, I wake up in a sweat, screaming, "Get her away from that, NOW!".