Dream: Freeway Fleamarket – plus some Real World
I’m so glad we only have these things eight times a year. Sammons Jazz concerts just kick my butt. At least I’m not alone – my boss and I both get here a little late, answer the question “How are you?” with the single word, “Tired,” or even a single-syllable groan that translates roughly to “I’m too wiped out even to complain,” and try to pump in enough caffeine to achieve some semblance of productivity. Thankfully, there’s usually just a little bit of paperwork clean-up; our maintenance guy stays late and cleans up all the physical debris of the party crowd.
Fortunately, I was able to get just rested enough to remember my last dream upon waking; this is always a good sign that I got a good night’s sleep. Last night’s dream: Freeway Fleamarket
I’m driving down a freeway; I think I take an off-ramp, and then I see a covered wagon, but it’s a freeway booth. Beverly, of “Affordable Treasures,” is there, and she’s selling stuff; I pull over, stop, and walk along, looking at stuff from various vendors. Then I’m in some sort of indoor flea market. I am looking at various things, just wandering along. I see some really gorgeous gold tissue fabric; it looks like real Cloth of Gold. I ask how much it is, and the lady tells me it’s $70 for the roll. I reluctantly put it back down.
Then Chris and I have bought (?) a house. We’re moving stuff around in it; I think that the prior owners aren’t completely finished moving out yet. We are fighting about something; I think he is upset because he thinks he’s doing all the housework and I’m not doing any. It’s not the case, but that’s how he’s picturing it. I get ticked off with him, and leave him in the master bedroom and go lie down in a smaller bedroom; the bed is smaller than a single, like a daybed.
Then I walk into another room, and there is a stand (like from the flea market) selling glass bottles; I look at them, and enjoy them – they are rich browns and blues. Then we’re standing in front of the house, and there is some woman here, and two older teenage girls; I think they are neighbors. I don’t remember why they’re here.
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