Tuesday, April 04, 2006

The hell?

Last night I had such a strange dream.

Due to some sort of unspecified financial disaster, we couldn't afford to stay in our current apartment. Somehow, it was decided (by which of us, I still don't know) that the cheapest and most expedient thing to do would be to move back into the house I had rented years ago in Echo Park... but without telling the landlord. In waking life, the landlord and I had parted ways under extremely awkward circumstances involving overstepped boundaries and I was mortified to find myself in this situation again. The_bone, using infallible dream-logic, assured me again and again that we would just have to be discreet and we would never be found out. (!)

We managed to move all of our things into the house without incident, and in my dream it smelled the same (old houses always have a certain scent) and the stairs creaked in the same places I remember. Circusfaerie was her current age, yet younger at the same time and entertained herself by visiting neighbors we hadn't seen in years.

There were two major changes in the house since I had last seen it; the first was the renovation of the entire upstairs floor, and the second was the family who had moved in there. I remember being terribly worried that the remodeling would raise the rent (if we were found), but somehow I remained strangely unconcerned about the family that was currently living there. The last part I remember before the scene changed entirely was hiding on the stairs, trying to make the cat (we have a cat?) stop meowing while the landlord peered into the windows trying to find me.

The scene abruptly changed, and then I was walking around the new/old neighborhood. It had become sort of an artists' enclave and Circusfaerie was giving me a guided tour. There was a very famous designer who lived in a gorgeous house at the top of the hill and was especially noted for her famous portraits, which were visible through the windows from street level. (The portraits were hideous - but I thought it best not to mention it.) Suddenly, I was in the house having cocktails with this artist. It was a rather distant affair. We were both polite, but in an awkward, nothing in common, friend-of-a-friend sort of way.

A new guest walks into the room to much squealing and rejoicing from the artist. I look up... and it's my sister. Naturally, she looks fabulous. She coyly asks whether I'm going to speak to her this time. (She started a feud with me about eight years ago, complete with silent treatment - and I still don't know what she's on about) I decide to gather my courage and finally confront her directly - why has she been an absolute bitch to me all this time? Infuriatingly, she plays it off like she has absolutely no idea what I'm talking about - she's been the very model of civility, and am I quite sure I'm feeling ok? She stops just short of doing the 'Bitch Crazy for Real' eyeroll behind my back. As I feel an aneurysm coming on, I wake up furious, confused and with the beginnings of the worst. migraine. ever.

Baggage much?

posted by Space Kitty at 11:08 PM|| Comments (1)