Last Night

I dreamt that I was driving to some small city with a lake in the middle, not a small lake, something smaller than Lake Geneva, but like that, a lake circled by houses, and a small town tucked on one side. I was driving with Fred, our neighbor, and Martha, and I asked them to think about how much Fred's house would cost if you dropped it down on the frontage property, and Fred said he didn't know and Martha said 3, maybe four times its current value.

Then I was in a large hotel complex, kind of like the resort we stayed at north of Lake Geneva, and I was sharing a dark room with Fred. There was a shroud of mortality about the room, cloaked in darkness. Fred slept in the bed and I was supposed to simply stay there and watch him. Out in the hall was a parade of yolung people pouring in off buses--they were laughing, sporting, cavorting as they searched for their rooms. I was torn. I was supposed to stay with Fred but the room was so dark annd suffocating. I left.

Outside it was warm and bright, brilliant with sun, and I circled the lake, passing by sunbathers and swimmers and people partying.


Later this morning as I recalled the dream I could seee that it was about death and depression, stasis and life. I need the sun, I need the outdoors, I need the noise of life. It is about age, escap;ing the magnet of getting old.