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Tuesday, April 20, 2004

Crooked Little Man (dream)

There were houses, an entire neighborhood of them. I and my son were there, with a realtor. Everything was pastel rose and white; pale greens and soft colors. My son played in the driveways while the realtor talked to me about buying houses. There was one house we came to while the realtor was away that was locked. The old woman within had died long ago, I knew, and the house was up for sale. My son went in through the basement somehow and unlocked the front door. We went inside. It was like stepping into the 30's. All the pastel colors were still there, but there were also beds and lots of small bedrooms. It was a typical house for back then with tiny square feet and old fashioned furniture - the lower middle class kind. The beds were made with dark bedspreads; they were the only dark colors in the place. There was a room with dolls hanging on hangers in one of those movable closets. Doilies decorated a dresser. I wanted this house. I was madly in love with it. The realtor came and I mentioned buying it, even though I knew I had no money. I'd want it even if it is right by the highway, I said. The realtor said that I wouldn't want it, that it would be difficult to get in and out because of the traffic which was zooming by at incredible paces. I didn't care, and inside I even built a map. I know a way to get in and out without worrying about the traffic. Well, I suppose if one must live without a home, dreams will sometimes try to soothe you.