. . . . and then I woke up

from a horrible nightmare. Last night I dreamed that we had bought a different house. Something that was the opposite of everything I want or would ever buy! My house was set on a busy commercial street, a main street in a run-down town flanked on both sides with hardware stores. Discarded trash piled around the house and the yard was covered in cracked asphalt that was covered with abandoned machinery piles.

The house was old but lacked the charm of my former house built in 1922. This house was a beat up dump crying out for a wreaking ball. The kitchen was a vintage kitchen from the 50s. I noticed a single ancient sink and a stove. This kitchen lacked any counter space and more than a few cabinets. The walls were a bumpy cement plaster. But the most frightening aspect – the huge hole in the middle of the floor. As the hole was nearly as large as the room I had to hold on to the handles on the appliances and doors to make my way out of the room. I could see the room below and worried about falling through. And there was another room with a hole in the floor.

I know my husband was fixing something in a different room but I was a little annoyed he hadn’t fixed the holes first since they were an obvious hazard for the kids and me -- since I apparently decided to go into the room with the expanding hole. I didn’t like this house and was angry it was ours.

It was a two bedroom house, with a shed outside that had another bed! But I didn’t want my 12 year-old sleeping outside in a shed alone. The house was cramped, outdated and had that little something I like to call the “ugh” factor.

I’m not a professional dream analyst; however, I will go ahead and say this dream was carryover from living in a two-bedroom apartment and the havoc that caused to my psyche. I am a delicate flower that needs to recover by going to New York to visit art museums!