Dream #6

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Dream I had last night that features that recurring theme of hidden rooms and a white dog

Dreams never start in a definitive, logical way, so I will start with a feeling:

I’m in my home.  It’s comfortable.  Everyone is home and everyone seems maybe a little tired of being away from home- there’s an all round feeling of being grateful but also a feeling of wanting to be slightly away from each other, in our own rooms.  We have with us a scarlet Macaw—it’s a rescue parrot, and this is its first night with us.  It’s morning and I give the bird a shower and it really enjoys it.  The shower is relaxing and soothing to the parrot, and as we’re stepping out and getting toweled off, the parrot rescue people (who are in the home to check up on him) make the remark that they’d never seen him so tame.  “It must be because you let him fly free in this great big house where I used to have him in a cage my tiny apartment.”  This really very thin, short, pretty woman with big dark eyes and dark, dusty brown ringlets of hair says to me [it may be worth mentioning that I am tall, fat, very fat actually, and not pretty at all in real life]. But it’s true, I do let my birds fly free around the house and they love it.  Even the macaw’s girlfriend—a black feathered bird with spindly legs, all exotic and gothic and people-shy—seems to be relishing the trust we’re placing in her to roam around the house.  “He always bites people” she said, and he is nibbling on me, but in a very gentle, playful way.  The one I really have to look out for is the white samoyd.  He’s lived with us for some time and he’s also a rescue.  I’ve trusted him but as I’m playing with him on the floor, he puts a little too much pressure on his play-bites, and we’re looking each other in the eyes and there’s a feeling of warning, that the dog is letting me know he can’t be trusted – he’s about to lose it, maybe due to disease like dogs sometimes do.  I know he will be dangerous in the future, but it’s really not his fault, he’s warning me in a gentle, faintly pleading kind of way, do not trust me because I cannot trust myself.

I try to find the parrot rescue people a place to stay because they have a long way to go, and they came all this way to meet us, so it would make sense to just let them stay the night.  They want a place outside the house, so I put them in this structure (that was really very common for everyone to have in that dream world) that was like an castle turret room.  It was in the backyard.  A very basic room, with a bed, bathrooms are nearby.  They thanked me for it, but as I’m standing there watching them go to their rooms, I maybe start to realize that I’d never really paid much attention to those rooms.  There’s nothing special about them I think to myself, so I don’t feel bad about letting them stay the night in rooms that I haven’t properly and thoroughly explored, but the idea that I haven’t really examined every room within my own home passes over me like a shadow.  So I turn my attention inside, and the kids are going to their own rooms to hang out. Theda asks me if she can take the room off the side of the living room.  I shrug and say that’s fine, but I begin to realize that I don’t have a daughter named Theda, my husband does.  She’s a child from another one of his multiple marriages.  She’s older, almost college aged, but she’s come to live with us and I must treat her as my daughter even though I’ve never had a daughter and she grew up entirely without me in her life, so it’s awkward, but she is hauntingly beautiful with her big dark eyes and dusty brown ringlets of hair.  She’s thin and short, she doesn’t take up much space, doesn’t have very many belongings.  We gather up her belongings in a shoe box and my husband drops it on the stairs and scatters stuff that’s important to her all over the place, stuff like pony beads and old receipts and empty food wrappers.  I make him pick it up and gather it together for her.  He does, and then he’s gone, and its just me brining her this box, only she’s not in the room at the time.  I begin to realize that I’ve neglected this room.  I knew the room was there but I always kept it dark and uninhabited because I never really had the time to move into it—we just hastily moved our stuff in and where the stuff landed is what we occupied, but we knew the rooms were there, the whole family knew.  We just stuck with what we had and never gave those rooms a second thought.  So I’m standing in Theda’s new room, and its kind of cool and stale smelling like uninhabited places smell after a while, and beyond her room there’s a sitting room.  The carpet here is plush.  The room is very angular, and there’s a wood burning fireplace with a black and gold grate on an angled wall.  Oh my gosh I’ve ALWAYS WANTED ONE OF THESE!! I think to myself, WHY ARE WE NOT USING THIS?  THIS IS SO AWESOME! And suddenly I feel so much happier and so much more ready to let the birds and the kids roam free all over the house, but there’s a room even beyond this one—it’s a room that is just as plush as the first, but it has several large items laying around, and one of those large items is an old furnace.  It’s white and aquamarine, just like the colors scheme for the hidden living room and for Theda’s room—it’s that typical aquamarine and white that you see on a lot of retro things from the 40’s and 50’s, only it’s all completely pristine and not aged at all.  The front panel of it says that it burns corn oil and my immediate thought is well how the hell am I going to find enough corn oil to heat a whole house, but as I hold my hand out to it, I realize that it’s warm, and that it’s probably be supplementing my house all this time, and that it’s probably the answer to all of my problems because someone in the 70’s decided that using baseboard heaters in every room of the house was the more efficient and clean way to go but they were wrong.  This is giving me everything I need is the sudden, joyous thought I had, and I ran to go tell everyone, but Theda is feeling a little violated that I had to cross through her room to get to it.  I wanted to ask her permission but she wasn’t around, and besides THIS is BIG, too BIG to ignore, so I acknowledge her concerns, but run up the stairs to go tell my husband, but he’s still busy gathering Theda’s things—the crumpled up receipts, the pony beads, the slips of paper, the empty Gatorade bottles--up off of the stairs. My Macaws will be so happy.  That damn dog has got to go.


Submitted: April 26, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Keisha Gamman. All rights reserved.

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