Dream: Breaking with Chris

The 2:45 AM Dream:
Breaking With Chris
Chris and I are at Grandmother and Granddad’s old house in the country, but it’s different. It’s empty – we are walking from room to room, talking about how we will set things up. We are talking about how to set our furniture up like roommates – separate rooms. We both feel sad about it, but not angry or antagonistic. We’re still good friends, so we will live together and just go on that way. I tell him something about the shelves in the other room being built in, but then I realize that it was the shelves from the apothecary cabinet, which is gone. I notice that my hair is long again; I ask Chris, “Is it a long hair thing?” He says yes; I think that the long hair is just a symptom of how different we have become. Water keeps turning itself on in the bathroom; it’s coming out of a flexible shower head, and I keep turning it off so it won’t make a mess.

Then, I go outside, and there is a little swath of grass in front of where the driveway should be. I am standing there, watching a peregrine falcon swooping around; it moves like a hummingbird, sometimes hanging completely still in the air, not moving even its wings. I say something (to Chris?) about how it’s flying like that, and how amazing it is that it can pause before it stoops like that. I think it’s looking for rodents in the grass.

I find myself in front of the Avenel house, where I live now – I realize that I have had this whole dream, and need to write it down. I can’t find a pad, though, so I start writing it on the driveway with what I have handy – a spoon. I realize that Chris is out in his car listening to music; I walk out there, and he’s parked across the street, sitting in the back seat of his car, crying, listening to music playing. He seems agitated. I look at him, and he looks up at me, and says that he’s realized that it’s over… I tell him, I know, I dreamed it all. He says, “Before I work for you (meaning real estate?) you’ll be working for me.” I’m not sure what he means by that. Then, back inside, I’m helping somebody look through my things. She’s trying to find a cufflink; we look in several jewelry boxes, but can’t find it. We look in a batik fabric-covered jewelry box that has a bunch of stacking compartments; she comments on how pretty the brocade is. The box twists open sideways into a long string of boxes.

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